All Comes Down To You
by beckyharvey29
Summary: Mickey would do anything to be in his kid's life, even if that means faking a relationship with the one person in the world he wants nothing to do with.
1. Chapter 1

Mickey Milkovich swore under his breath as he pressed the elevator button for the third time. He was already running late thanks to his alarm not going off and the bumper-to-bumper traffic during his thirty-minute commute. To top it off, the damn elevator wanted to take its sweet time moving between floors. His day was already off to a perfect fucking start.

"Come the fuck on," he grumbled under his breath. He juggled with his messenger bag and lifted his wrist to check the time, seeing he was eleven minutes late. Fucking great.

Normally, at any other job, eleven minutes late probably wouldn't be too big of a deal. His job wasn't just any other job, though, and his boss wasn't just any boss. His boss was the devil incarnate.

"Come the fuck on," he hissed again, practically punching the button. "The hell's wrong with this goddamn thing?"

The woman in the elevator with him was standing flat in the corner, her purse clutched to her chest, and a terrified look on her face.

Mickey snuck a look back at her and did a double take, realizing he must look like a fucking madman. He relaxed a little, despite his aggravation, and ran his free hand through his hair.

"Uh, how about that Cubs' game last night?" he asked lamely, even though he didn't give a shit about the Cubs' game and knew she most likely didn't either. He'd never been great at small talk, but that's what strangers talked about with each other, wasn't it? Sports and the weather, shit like that?

Just as he was opening his mouth to spew some more bullshit, the elevator door finally opened with a ding. Without saying goodbye, he left the shell-shocked woman in the elevator and dashed on to the 15th floor where Lindenmeyr Publishing conducted their business.

He rushed through the bustling workplace, hurrying past cubicles and ignoring most of the waves, looks, and whispers being thrown in his direction. He finally reached the outside of his boss's office and hesitated with his hand on the door handle. He scowled at the name etched in block letters on the door.

"He's in a bad mood today, man," someone warned behind him.

Mickey shot his coworker, Wayne, a wary look. "When isn't he in a goddamn mood?"

"It's worse than usual today," Wayne said before dropping his voice to a mere whisper, making sure his boss couldn't hear him through the large, opaque door. He lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow and waved his hand for emphasis as he spoke. "Rumor has it, he broke up with his guy last night. Apparently, he was working late last night and his beau came in pissed as all hell because he blew off plans. Jake, the custodian—you know the one with the mohawk—well, he heard the whole blowout. It was so bad. He thought they were fucking at first, but the man came out looking heated as all hell."

Wayne was the office gossip and usually kept everyone up-to-date on their boss's goings-on. He was flashy, flamboyant, and obnoxiously loud most days, and normally Mickey wouldn't want anything to do with a guy like that, but Wayne was pretty alright in his book; especially since Wayne usually joined in on the shit-talking of his boss.

Mickey hefted his messenger bag higher on his shoulder and dragged a hand down his face. "Fuckin' great. So, like always, I'm gonna have to pick up the pieces of the shithead's life."

"The benefits of being the boss's assistant, I guess," Wayne singsonged haughtily. It was no secret around the office that Wayne had been gunning for the assistant position before Mickey had nabbed the job, and that he still held a little resentment over it.

Mickey tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking the day was getting worse by the minute. The last thing he needed right then was for his boss to be in a terrible mood on the one day he just so happened to be late.

"Good luck," Wayne taunted before disappearing back into his cubicle.

"Yeah, thanks," Mickey said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He turned back towards the door and ran a hand over his face before deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with. He reluctantly walked through the threshold and was immediately silenced when his boss held up a hand and turned his back to him.

Mickey stared at the back of the swivel chair with complete disdain. Rude prick.

He listened to the low grumble of his boss's hushed words. He would be lying if he said he wasn't trying to listen in on the secret conversation. Not that he gave a shit who or what his boss was talking about, but he figured any little piece of dirt he could get on the guy could benefit him sometime in the future if it ever came down to it. He always knew what to do to protect himself in any situation.

Finally, his boss hung up the phone and swiveled around to face Mickey, fixing him with a pointed look. "You're late. You were supposed to be here at nine."

Mickey clutched the strap of his bag, trying to keep his cool. He had to do that a lot around his boss, who usually seemed to like testing his patience. "Yeah, I know. My alarm didn't go off, the power went out during the storm last night. Traffic was terrible over on 90, some asshole switched lanes at the last minute and almost side—"

His boss waved a dismissive hand and started shuffling through some papers on his desk, clearly not interested in Mickey's excuses.

"Fuck you too, then," Mickey grumbled under his breath. He stepped further into the spacious office, closing the door behind him to drown out the noises and commotion coming from the cubicle floor. He placed the coffee he had with him on his boss's neat and massive desk. Hopefully, the fact that he'd still had the decency to stop for his boss's usual cup of morning coffee despite being late would sweeten his boss's mood a little. "Then the elevator door wouldn't open, so—"

His boss was in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee and interrupted Mickey to say, "Coffee's cold."

Mickey clamped his mouth shut, his jaw flexing. At his sides, he kept his hands from curling into fists. He really fucking hated the guy. If he didn't seriously need the nice paycheck and decent health benefits, he would have quit a long time ago. He also had a seven-year-old kid to think about. He'd be damned if he didn't do everything he could to give Yevgeny a good life, even if that meant dealing with his boss's bullshit on a daily basis.

"So, am I in—"

"Sit down," his boss interjected, motioning towards the two leather chairs situated in front of the desk. Once Mickey was sitting, his boss continued in a dull, tired tone. "I have a busy day today. I have a meeting later with the guy from Avenir, so I need to be prepared for that."

Mickey nodded as he reached down to pull his iPad from his bag, prepared to take whatever notes his boss needed him to.

His boss sat back in his chair and ran a hand down his face, looking pale, tired, and defeated.

Mickey watched him, waiting, his brows arched in annoyance. "Long night?" he found himself asking after a long, torturous silence.

He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. His boss didn't do personal. Truth be told, neither did Mickey. That was the one and only thing he appreciated about his boss; he kept things professional, never asked him about his day nor questioned him about his life. Mickey barely knew anything about the guy outside of the fact that he was the junior editor at Lindenmeyr Book Publishing and work was his life. He knew how the guy took his coffee. He also knew the guy was gay. Mickey just so happened to be gay too, but that meant nothing to him. His boss was physically attractive—anyone with eyes could fucking see that—but he would rather scoop out his eyes with a melon-baller than ever touch the guy.

His boss slowly lowered his hand from his face and looked back at Mickey with a blank expression, clearly caught off guard by the personal question. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted when the door opened and a tall man with a scowl stalked in, looking pissed.

"Oh, shit," Mickey grumbled under his breath when he instantly recognized the pissed-off man as his boss's boyfriend.

"We need to talk, Ian," the man declared, shutting the door behind him, no doubt to the disappointment of Mickey's coworkers, namely Wayne.

"Do you mind?" Ian drawled, his chin jutted. Mickey knew shit was about to go down; Ian was pulling out the chin. "I'm working."

"I wanna talk now," the man snapped. "No more fucking around. You won't answer my calls or texts, so here I am. We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," Ian spat. "I said all I needed to say last night. We're done."

Mickey looked back and forth between the two men and stood up. "Maybe I should go, let you two hash this shit out privately."

"Sit down, Mickey," Ian demanded, his eyes never leaving his ex's. "We have work to do. He's leaving."

Ian's ex-boyfriend looked at Mickey before fixing Ian with a pointed glare. A rough, unamused laugh left his mouth before he asked, "Are you fuckin' him too?"

"Excuse me?" Mickey blurted, taking complete offense to the absurd question.

Ian scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. "Can we please not do this here? This is my job!"

"Are you?" the man bellowed, undeterred. "Answer the damn question, Ian! Are you fuckin' him too?"

"What the fuck," Mickey groused, scrubbing a hand down his face. He knew he should have called out sick that day.

"What if I am fucking him, huh?" Ian yelled back, standing up from his desk. "It's none of your business anymore who I fuck, Jared. We're not together! I suggest you leave before I call security."

"You are fucking him, aren't you?" the man accused again, unperturbed by Ian's threats. "You're fuckin' your assistant. It would explain the long hours. It would explain you not wanting to fuck me anymore!"

"Whoa, hey," Mickey sputtered, standing up from his chair. "No one is fuckin' anyone around here, alright?"

Fuck, it was only Monday. He'd been really hoping the week would go smoothly, and that he could make it to Friday unscathed and enjoy his four day Fourth of July weekend with his kid. He didn't want to be in the middle of a fucking lovers' brawl between his boss and his boss's butt buddy.

"I don't wanna fuck you anymore because you're a lousy lay," Ian retorted. "And maybe I stay at the office long hours because you're so mind-numbingly stupid that I can't stand to be around your ass anymore."

"Lousy lay? Are you kidding me!" the man exclaimed, clearly more offended by being called a bad lay than being called stupid. "His dick is any better?" he bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Mickey.

"Yeah, maybe it is!"

"Okay, back the fuck up," Mickey exclaimed. "He's never been anywhere near my dick, alright? Let's get that clear right fuckin' now."

The man didn't seem to mind anything Mickey was saying. He advanced on Ian in three quick strides until he was in his face, crowding him back against a bookcase.

To Mickey's complete surprise, Ian actually looked intimidated… scared, even.

"Yeah, okay," Mickey snapped, kicking into defense mode. He might not like the guy, but he wasn't about to stand back and allow the douchebag to fight his boss. He stepped between the two men, facing Ian's ex. "You need to go. Now. Hash this out another time, man. This isn't the time or the fucking place."

The man paid Mickey no mind, only glared at Ian over Mickey's shoulder. He grabbed the knot of Ian's tie, pulling him forward and against Mickey's back, so he could say straight to Ian's face, "You're nothing but a goddamn whore," he spat. "Can't keep your dick in your pants."

"You need to leave," Mickey declared again, trying to keep his cool, and trying his best to neutralize the situation. Fuck, he'd always imagined being wedged between two hot guys, but not like that.

When Ian's ex finally backed off, Mickey slowly relaxed. "Alright? We cool?"

"Yeah," Ian breathed as he straightened his tie. "All cool."

Ian's ex-beau took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mickey ran a hand through his hair, already planning on telling Ian he was owed an extra personal day for that shit. Before he could say or do anything else, Ian's ex-boyfriend threw a fist and punched Mickey square in the mouth, sending him stumbling backward.

"You two can have each other! I'm out!"

Ian caught Mickey under the arms before his ass hit the floor, and both men watched as Ian's ex-boyfriend turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

After a moment of stupefied hesitation, Mickey struggled out of Ian's grip and took a few steps forward to put some distance between them. He reached up and gingerly touched his bottom lip. Sure enough, he was bleeding. "What the fuck!"

"Sorry about that," Ian said, handing him a handkerchief.

Mickey eyed the expensive piece of cloth before snatching it from Ian's hand. "What the fuck? I don't get paid enough for this shit!"

"Actually, you kinda do—" Ian started but shut his mouth once Mickey fixed him with a baleful glare. "You okay? Looks like he got you pretty good."

"Where the hell did you find that piece of shit?" Mickey asked as he continued wiping his lip. He watched as Ian sighed and walked back around his desk to sit in his chair.

"Met him at a club a few weeks ago," Ian answered after a beat, much to Mickey's surprise. "He was only supposed to be a quick fuck, but he didn't seem to wanna leave after a while. Became clingy. He wanted more than I was willing to give him. Don't have time for a relationship. Don't even really want one. He's having a hard time accepting that."

"You fuckin' think?" Mickey slowly sat down in his own chair, confused about everything that had just been said. It was probably the most personal Ian had ever been with him in the whole nine months he'd been working there, and he didn't know exactly how to react to any of it. He watched as Ian typed something on his computer. "He's a fuckin' tool," he said after an awkward pause. "You're probably better off without him."

Ian looked up and gave him a small, barely there smile. "Yeah, I am."

Mickey watched him for another moment before saying, "I get an extra personal day outta this bullshit, right? Asshole messed up my face."

"Ah, it's okay," Ian intoned, still typing away. "Your face isn't that great, anyway."

"Hold the fuck up," Mickey asked, not believing his ears. Maybe his boss wasn't such a dick after all. His lips curled into a small, surprised smile. "Was that a fuckin' joke?"

Ian smiled a little before clearing his throat and shifting in his chair. His whole demeanor changed in an instant, almost as if he'd caught himself having a little fun and was chastising himself for it. "Anyway, uh, about this meeting I have in a bit. Let's go over some key points, make sure I have my shit together. I can't mess this up."

Mickey nodded and grabbed his iPad again, figuring maybe that was all he was going to get out of the other man, a tiny smile and a bad joke. Oh well, it's not like he was going to lose sleep over the fact that his boss wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, that was the way he preferred things to be.

* * *

Later that night, Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. His ex-wife's voice was really grating on his nerves, even more so than usual. He had been enjoying his night. He'd jacked off in the shower earlier, and he was just sitting down to enjoy his TV dinner and catch up on How To Get Away With Murder when his phone rang. It was Svetlana doing what she does best, ruining his fucking life.

"Me and Nika want Yev for the weekend."

"This weekend?" Mickey reiterated. "You know I wanted him this weekend, Svet. I was gonna light off fireworks for the kid. I bought… fuck, I bought a whole package of shit for him." He wanted to do with Yev all the things he'd never had a chance to do as a child; shit like being carefree, playing with sparklers, and lighting fireworks off with his dad. The very thought that he wouldn't be able to do that caused his chest to tighten.

"I'm sorry," Svetlana drawled unconvincingly. "It is our weekend, and we want him, and we decide we have him. You can have him next weekend."

Mickey clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. "But you said, two fuckin' days ago, that I can have him for the holiday. I planned my whole weekend around having him, don't do this."

"You can't just decide when you want him, Mikhailo," Svetlana snapped. "That is not how this works. We changed mind."

Mickey cringed at the use of his full name. He knew she only did that shit to get further under his skin. "Come on, Svet. Don't make me beg to see my own fuckin' kid. I thought we were past that."

"You can't just pick and choose what weekend to not go out and fuck random guy. We have court order for reason," Svetlana retorted. "Nika and I decided we want him, we have him."

Mickey rested his head back on the threadbare couch, once again cursing Svetlana's bitch girlfriend in his head. He knew it was all most likely Nika planting shit in Svetlana's head.

Svet and Nika had been together for almost five years, and Nika hated Mickey with a burning passion. She did everything she could to keep Yevgeny out of his life. Sure, a couple of years ago, Mickey hadn't cared as much. There had been a time when he would have chosen to get drunk and fuck random dudes every night of the week rather than take his son, but he changed. Or he'd been trying to. Sure, he still banged random dudes every now and then, but he'd cut down on the fucking and drinking, had gotten himself a decent apartment and a good job thanks to a friend of Mandy's. That wasn't good enough for Nika, though, and if it wasn't good enough for Nika, it apparently wasn't good enough for Svetlana.

"I got my shit together, Svet. You fuckin' know that!" he said, desperate. He hated having to beg and plead to see his son, but since Svetlana had full custody with him only having Yev every other weekend apparently only when Svet and Nika wanted him to, he had no other choice. "I'm tryin' here. I really am. I got a good job, a decent place…"

Svetlana was quiet for a moment before saying, "What about all the guys you bring around? Fucking with Yevy in the next room."

Mickey sneered, completely offended by the implication. "I don't bring anyone home when Yev's here, you know that."

"No, we do not know that! That is our point," Svetlana snapped. "You screw anything with a penis. You are a whore, Mikhailo."

Mickey scoffed. "That's rich, comin' from you," he grumbled, which was followed by Svetlana ranting in Russian. He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed. He could never win with the woman.

Svetlana calmed down after a minute, then said flatly, "Yev needs stability, he needs to be safe when he is with you, then maybe you see him more. All these random men you bring around, who knows what they do! You watch the news! All these creepy child sex predators!"

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and sat forward, eyeing the cold TV dinner in front of him. He knew he had to lie. It was the only way he'd be able to see his son. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that shit.

"I'm actually seein' someone," Mickey said before he could stop himself.

"You are seeing someone?" Svetlana asked, clearly sounding unsure. "That is bullshit. Since when?"

"Since… about three months ago," Mickey lied. "Haven't fucked anyone since. Haven't picked anyone up since. I like the guy. I think it's gettin' pretty serious."

"You, serious with someone?" Svetlana huffed. "I do not believe you. You were with Aleksandr for four months and—"

"Hey, it can happen," Mickey snapped, not even wanting to get on the topic of his ex. "Just because it didn't happen with him, doesn't mean it can't happen with someone else. I'm not a complete fuckin' lost cause." Before he could stop himself, he continued, digging himself into an even bigger hole. "I'm thinkin' about asking the guy to move in with me. I was gonna introduce Yev to him this weekend, see how that goes. Can't take that next step 'til I know how Yev feels about it all."

"You are thinking about living with someone?" Svetlana exclaimed. "I do not believe you. You do not do love, remember?"

"Yeah, well, a person can fucking change."

"How do I know you are not making this up just to please me?"

Mickey ran a hand over his mouth, hating that she was asking so many stupid fucking questions. The shit he did to see his son. "Why would I make this shit up?"

"To get kid, why else?" Svetlana retorted. "What is new guy's name?"

Mickey said the very first name that popped into his head. "Ian."

"Ian?" Svetlana repeated. "Where did you meet this Ian?"

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose again, silently berating himself.

Ian? Fucking Ian? Of all the names in the world he could have come up with out of thin air, he says Ian? Not Ben or Bob or Bill. Fucking _Ian_.

"I met him at work," he answered without fully thinking it through. As soon as the words left his mouth, he stood up and began pacing. Fuck!

"Ian… your boss, Ian?" Svetlana reiterated. "The same boss you could not stand? The same boss you said was Lucifer's redheaded stepchild. That same Ian?"

"Yeah," Mickey grumbled reluctantly after a long pause. "Turns out he, uh, he isn't so bad."

"Not so bad? You've thought about quitting how many times because of him!" Svetlana exclaimed. "The dick must be good… ugly fuckin' skin stick."

Mickey ran a hand down his face and waited.

"Okay," Svetlana finally relented. "You can take Yevgeny this weekend."

Mickey let out a sigh of relief and smiled. If he had to lie a little to see his son, it was worth it.

Svetlana's next words turned his world upside down, and he knew he was completely fucked.

"But I want to meet this Ian character first."

"Meet him?" Mickey exclaimed. "The fuck you need to meet him for?"

"He is going to be around my son, I meet him," Svetlana snapped with finality. "Thursday, when you come to pick Yevy up. I will make dinner and meet the man who finally stole your cold, dead heart."

"Fuck, Svet, I don't know if he'd…" Mickey stammered. He ran a hand over his mouth and tried again. "I don't even know if he'd wanna come. He probably has his own shit going on."

"Make him come," Svetlana snapped. "If you are important to him as he is to you, he will come." There was some rustling and whispering on Svetlana's end, then she said, "I have to go, the kid needs bath. Remember, Thursday at six. Bring your lover boy or no Yevgeny!"

Mickey stared down at his phone after Svetlana had hung up. He scowled and tossed his phone to the side and headed for his bedroom, intent on getting dressed and heading to Boystown to find a fuck for the night. He needed to do something, preferably someone, to get his mind off the new shitshow he'd just created for himself.

* * *

The next morning, Mickey woke up with the hangover from hell and a heavy arm draped over his waist. He reached over and slapped the screaming alarm clock a few times before finally hitting the snooze button.

The random guy next to him groused and crowded closer into his personal space.

He frowned and peeled the guy's arm away from him. Normally, when he brought a guy home, he kicked him out shortly after the fucking happened. He must have been really fucking drunk to pass out without sending the guy on his way first.

"Ey," he said irritably, pushing the sleeping man's shoulder. He couldn't remember much from the night before, but his ass felt deliciously sore, and there were two used condoms lying on the bed, so the dick couldn't have been that bad. Still, the guy had to go. He patted the guy's bare ass for good measure. "Yo, get the fuck up, Romeo. It's time to go."

The man finally lifted his head and grumbled something incoherently. He leaned forward and attempted to kiss Mickey on the mouth, but he was stopped by a palm flat against his face.

"Kiss me, and I'll knock your teeth outta your head."

The guy shot him a perturbed look before finally rolling over to grab his pants from the floor.

"Be gone by the time I'm done showering," Mickey informed the guy before getting up from the bed to head for the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and scowled. The guy had left a hickey above his collarbone. He'd have to make sure he wore a collared shirt to cover it up. He had to appear professional in front of his boss, after all.

He stepped under the hot spray and relished the feeling of the scalding hot water cleansing his skin. As he soaped himself up, he sobered a little, and that was when he remembered his conversation with Svetlana from the night before.

"Fuck," he swore.

He had no idea what the fuck he was going to do. He knew if he showed up at Svetlana's with no guy, he most likely wouldn't be able to see Yev, at least not as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to find a guy to go along with it all just for the evening, for just a few short hours.

He briefly thought about bribing the guy he'd brought home with him the night before to go along with it, but he was pretty sure Svetlana wouldn't be convinced that his boss was a tall, heavily tattooed black man with dreadlocks. In fact, he was sure he'd described Ian to Svetlana before as being, 'fucking pale, with red hair, stupid-ass freckles… fuckin' alien-looking motherfucker.'

Sure, he could always go out and try to find someone who had those exact characteristics, but he didn't have that kind of time or patience. He only had two days to convince someone to go along with his stupid scheme. Honestly, and unfortunately, Ian was probably his best and only bet.

Mickey groaned and pressed his forehead against the shower wall.

How the fuck did he get himself into these situations?

* * *

That day, the elevator door slid open much too soon for Mickey's liking, and he sauntered off reluctantly, Ian's usual cup of caramel macchiato clutched in his hand. He really didn't want to do what he was planning on doing, but he soldiered on anyway. He nodded a greeting at some of his coworkers in passing, stopped and chatted idly with Wayne for a bit, and before he was ready, he was standing in front of Ian's office.

Reluctantly, he knocked and stepped through the threshold. Ian wasn't on the phone, that time, but he was tapping away on his computer, not even bothering to look up when Mickey entered the office.

"Hey," Mickey grumbled, placing Ian's drink in front of him.

"Thanks," Ian said monotonously without looking up. "How's the lip?"

Mickey was in the process of sitting down and froze mid-action. Ian cared about his lip. Maybe this wouldn't be as painful as he'd thought. "I've had worse things done to my face. It's cool."

Ian glanced up, his eyes searching Mickey's face before dropping to his open collar, undoubtedly spotting the hickey on his collarbone. "Looks like someone had fun last night."

Mickey smirked and buttoned the top button of his shirt.

Ian finished what he was typing before turning to face him. He cleared his throat and avoided Mickey's eyes, looking uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday. I alerted security about the situation, so Jared won't be coming back anytime soon."

Mickey shrugged. "No need to apologize. It's not your fault the guy's a dick."

"Still," Ian intoned, his expression serious. "Sorry."

Mickey licked his dry lips and shuffled in his seat a little. Ian Gallagher was probably the only person in the world who made him nervous, and he fucking hated it.

"I talked to HR," Ian continued. "You're getting the extra vacation day you asked for."

"You didn't have to do that, man."

"You didn't have to step in like you did. It was my stupid shit, and you never shoulda been involved," Ian insisted. "We're even now."

Mickey watched as Ian went back to typing. He took in the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair gleamed in the sun pouring in through the large floor to ceiling windows, watched the way his tongue touched the crease of his mouth as he concentrated. It was a damn shame that someone so attractive was so fucking insufferable.

"Actually," Mickey started. "I was, uh… wondering if there was something else you could do for me."

Ian looked up, an eyebrow quirked. Before Mickey could say anything else, he interrupted him. "I don't know what you think is gonna happen here, but no."

"Excuse me?" Mickey asked after a beat, frowning.

"Okay." Ian chuckled dryly and scratched the back of his neck. "I know what my ex said yesterday. He called me a whore, said I couldn't keep my dick in my pants." On Mickey's confused look, he continued, "but nothing's gonna happen here. Nothing can happen here."

Mickey stared, dumbfounded. "What the fuck're you talking about?"

"I know about you, Mickey. People talk, okay? You're gay, whatever," Ian said, waving a dismissive hand. "But just because you stepped in yesterday and helped me out, that doesn't mean I'm going to… do whatever you're expecting me to do here. I'm your boss, you're my employee. That's it."

Mickey could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, the anger settling in when he realized what Ian was implying. "I don't want anything from you, especially that. Trust me," he exclaimed, using every ounce of willpower in himself to not pummel his boss. "You're a fuckin'—" He clamped his mouth shut, knowing if he said what he really wanted to say, he'd most likely lose his job. "Fuck, forget it."

"No, go ahead," Ian goaded. "Say it."

"I'm not fuckin' saying it."

"Say it," Ian pressed, standing up and walking around his desk. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, waiting. He then laughed dryly. "I know you hate me, Mickey. You don't exactly hide it well. Just lay it all out there. Tell me what you think of me, once and for all."

"Fine," Mickey relented, never one to back down from a challenge. "You're a pretentious asshole who thinks he's God's gift to men when really no one likes you. You're not nearly as hot as you think you are. Truth is, I wouldn't fuck you if someone paid me to. So, no, I wasn't asking you to fuck me." His words hung in the air before reality set in. He closed his eyes, knowing he had just royally fucked up. Not only was he about to lose his good-paying job, but he'd just lost any chance that Ian might have gone along with his stupid scheme.

Ian stared back at him blankly.

"Fuck," Mickey huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He reached down to grab his bag and stood up. He turned and headed for the door, cursing under his breath the entire time. Not only did he not have a stable relationship, but now he was jobless. So much for doing right by his kid.

"Where're you going?"

Mickey froze with his hand on the door. He looked over his shoulder to find Ian watching him. "I'm fired, ain't I?"

"Never said that."

Mickey slowly turned around, eyebrows raised. "What?"

Ian shrugged. "I never said that."

"But… I just said… I called you a pretentious asshole."

"I heard what you said," Ian said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Glad you're finally being honest. Maybe things won't be so fuckin' weird around here anymore. You're not fired. In fact, I should apologize for even suggesting that you'd want to… you know."

"Wait, back the fuck up," Mickey said, confused. "I'm not fired?"

Ian sighed and walked around to sit at his desk. "No. If anything, I respect you more for being honest with me."

Mickey frowned and watched as he went back to typing as if nothing was unusual about any of it. "You are the most impossible fucking person I know, you know that?"

Ian looked up and smiled, just barely. "I've been told that before."

Mickey hesitantly walked further into the room and sat down.

"You wanna go grab a quick drink after work?" Ian asked as he continued typing. "Strictly professional. I'll buy. It's the least I can do for jumping to conclusions."

Mickey swallowed hard, not knowing how to wrap his head around any of it. Ian Gallagher was certainly an enigma, that was for fucking sure.

He thought about it for only a few seconds before saying, "Yeah, I can go for a drink."

* * *

Mickey had agreed to meet him at a small bar at the end of the block after work. Ian had stayed back at the office to finish up some things, and he'd promised not to keep him waiting too long.

He found a small table in the back corner and sat down, figuring he'd take some time to come up with a way to ask his fucking boss to pretend to be his boyfriend for two hours on a Thursday. The whole day had been surreal, so why the fuck not top it off by asking his boss to be his fake boyfriend.

"Fuck," he groaned before downing the shot he had in front of him. He motioned for the waitress to bring him another, figuring he needed the liquid courage. After downing a third shot, he finally spotted Ian at the front of the bar glancing around and looking only slightly out of place.

Ian had discarded his suit jacket, and he had rolled his sleeves up a little and loosened his tie. He no longer looked so uptight and pretentious, but Mickey knew better.

Mickey waved him over and forced a small, amicable smile as he slid into the booth across from him.

The waitress came over to take Ian's drink order, which, surprisingly to Mickey, was scotch on the rocks and not some fruity drink with an umbrella.

"Sorry, I'm late," Ian said as he glanced around the semi-crowded bar. "Had to finish some things up."

"It's whatever," Mickey huffed against the rim of his beer. He watched as Ian scanned his surroundings and once again thought to himself how pretty he was if only he never opened his mouth.

Ian glanced at him, and they locked eyes.

Mickey looked away a split second later, not wanting him to get any ideas.

"So, are we good?" Ian began. "I don't want things to be weird at the office."

"Yeah, man, we're all good," Mickey said with a curt nod, thinking to himself that things were always fucking weird at the office. "I'm just glad I'm not fired for… saying what I did."

Ian laughed lightly as the waitress placed his drink in front of him. "You're not the first person to tell me I'm a pretentious asshole. I'd rather you tell me that than be fake to my face."

Mickey watched as he sipped his drink. "It doesn't bother you, what people think of you?"

"Does it bother you what people think of you?" Ian countered.

"What do people think about me?"

"That you're a thug from the South Side who only got the job because his sister fucked someone in HR," Ian answered against the rim of his glass.

"Can't get mad at that," Mickey deadpanned. "It's the truth."

Ian laughed, and Mickey thought maybe his laugh didn't sound too bad. "Well, no one knows me. Not really. Can't get mad at what people don't know."

"You walk around the office like you have a major stick up your ass, and not in a good way."

Ian smirked at that. "I just don't want people knowing me, that's all. So I let them think what they want. I don't owe anyone there anything. It's better to just keep to myself. It's easier that way."

Mickey sipped his beer, eyeing Ian over the rim of his mug. He guessed he could respect that.

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, the other patrons of the bar laughing and milling around them in stark contrast.

Ian was the first to break the tense silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, why the fuck not," Mickey said, already feeling a little woozy and lightheaded from the three shots he'd downed in quick succession before Ian's arrival.

"If you weren't gonna ask me for sex," Ian began, his tone measured, "what were you goin' to ask me?"

Mickey took a few gulps of his beer, knowing it was now or never. They were in a public place, they each had alcohol in their systems, Ian was being somewhat normal for once. It was probably his best and only opportunity.

"I need a favor," he blurted, deciding to just go for it. The worst Ian could say was no. "You can say no if you want, obviously, but, uh, I need a… fuck."

"A fuck?"

"No, shit, not a fuck." Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face before trying again. "Alright, so I'm just gonna lay it all out for you. My bitch of an ex-wife won't let me see my kid as much as I want to until I get my shit together. I stopped fuckin' around so much, got a good job and a nice place, but she wants me to be in a stable, committed relationship for my son's sake. Doesn't want a buncha dudes parading in and out of his life. I can't really blame her, but I'm not exactly in a hurry to settle down with anyone anytime soon."

"Okay," Ian drawled, clearly confused. "What's this have to do with me?"

"I told her I have a serious boyfriend without fuckin' thinking and now she wants to meet the guy. If she doesn't meet him on Thursday, I can't get my son for the weekend." Mickey gauged Ian's reaction as he registered the information. His eyebrows flew to his hairline as he continued, aggravated. "If she thinks I'm in a stable, committed relationship, I'll get to see my kid more, she'll trust me with him more. I don't know, it's fucking stupid."

"And you, what?" Ian asked, stirring his drink as he eyed him warily. "You want me to pretend to be that guy?"

"It would only be for a couple of hours for dinner," Mickey blurted, secretly relieved that Ian seemed to get where he was going with it all without too much explaining. "I'll work overtime, I'll work weekends. I'll do whatever the fuck you want me to do." When Ian didn't say anything, he snapped, "You'll get a free fucking dinner out of it. I can't promise it'll be good, but it'll be free."

"Why me, though?" Ian asked, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I mean, don't you have a friend that can do it for you? Someone who actually knows you?"

Mickey swallowed thickly and waited for a beat before saying, "Not any pale, freckled, redheaded ones."

"Me?" Ian asked incredulously. "You specifically described me?"

"I didn't fucking mean to! I told her I was seeing my boss, then I remembered I told the bitch before what you look like, and there's not really a whole lot of pale, alien-looking, redheaded gay men walking around fucking Chicago," Mickey groused.

"Alien-looking?" Ian asked with a frown. "Am I alien-looking?"

"Look, can you fuckin' do it or not?" Mickey snapped. He then lowered his voice and regained his cool before saying, "I do enough shit for you, do this one thing for me."

Ian smiled gently. "You get paid to do that shit for me, though?"

Mickey smirked. "Come on, man. I'm not asking for much. It's not like we have to bang. I don't know, we'll hold hands and shit, act like we actually fuckin' like each other, but that's about it. Just enough to get my kid's mother off my back for a while."

"Well," Ian said, pausing to take another look around. He glanced back at an apprehensive Mickey, played with his straw a little more, and finally settled on, "I guess it's the least I can do for putting you through all that bullshit the past couple days."

"Yeah," Mickey asked hopefully, his brows arched. "You'll do it?"

"I'll do it," Ian concluded. "It's only for a couple of hours, right?"

Mickey nodded as he sipped his beer. "Couple hours, that's all."

"Then I'm in," Ian said emphatically. "Maybe I can prove to you I'm not as big of a pretentious douche as you think I am."

Mickey scoffed into his mug, thinking that was highly unlikely. No matter how many beers or stupid little laughs or quick glances he and Ian suddenly shared, he would never see him as anything other than his pain in the ass boss who was simply doing him a small favor.

* * *

The next morning at work, Mickey walked into Ian's office to find his boss in the middle of a phone call. As per their usual routine, he placed Ian's coffee down on his desk and sat down in his usual chair to wait.

As he waited, he looked around the spacious, well-kept office. Nothing was out of place. Even Ian's desk was immaculate and perfectly organized. He had always thought it was a little weird that, for as much time as he spent at work, the place didn't really seem very personalized. He didn't even have the usual knickknacks or family pictures on his desk. It was like the guy had absolutely no life outside of work. It was fucking weird.

Mickey was broken from his reverie by Ian's voice.

"Sorry," Ian grumbled, fixing his tie and leaning back in his chair. He grabbed his coffee and took a tentative sip. "Coffee's hot today. I'm surprised."

Mickey stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Just when he'd thought they were finally getting somewhere…

Ian took another sip of his coffee and set it down before finally looking at him. "You get home okay last night?" he asked. "When I left you were already pretty buzzed."

Mickey decided not to tell his boss that he'd made a trip to Boystown after their get-together to get a sloppy blowjob from a stranger in a dark alley. "Yeah, uh, I left a little bit after you did. Went home and passed right the fuck out."

Ian nodded and turned towards his computer.

Mickey watched him for a few moments before bringing up the one thing he didn't want to bring up. "So, thanks for helping me out on Thursday. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem," Ian answered distractedly as he typed away.

"You still wanna go through with it?" Mickey asked trepidatiously. "If you wanna back out, now's your chance."

Ian shrugged. "Yeah, it's fine. I already have it marked in my planner."

Mickey watched as he kept typing. He swallowed thickly and rubbed his palms on his jeans before continuing, "So, I was thinking maybe we should, uh, maybe have lunch together and go over some things."

"Some things?" Ian asked, arching a brow but still not looking away from the computer.

"Yeah, man," Mickey said, slightly irritated that Ian wasn't looking at him, and even more irritated that he had to have the conversation, to begin with. He really couldn't fucking wait for Thursday to be over. "I know it's only gonna be for a couple of hours, but if we're supposed to be in a serious relationship, you should probably know some shit about me."

"Like what?" Ian asked, still typing.

"Maybe something other than my fuckin' name would be a start," Mickey snapped, finally letting his irritation get the best of him.

Ian finally stopped typing and turned his chair to face Mickey.

"If we're gonna do this, we need to do it right," Mickey snapped once he had Ian's undivided attention. "If you're not gonna get serious about it, I'll try to find someone else."

"Alright," Ian said, throwing up his hands. "I'm all ears."

Mickey's jaw flexed and, once again, he was trying to control his temper. "So, we'll meet up for lunch, then?"

"Sorry, I can't do lunch today," Ian said. "I already have a lunch meeting scheduled with Eldhurst."

"Fuck," Mickey said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I knew that."

Ian turned back towards his computer and started typing again.

Mickey stewed in his annoyance and was about to open his mouth to rant when Ian interrupted him.

"You can come to my place later if you want," Ian said distractedly. "It's only five minutes from here."

Mickey's brow arched at his bold suggestion.

"I was gonna cook myself some salmon and risotto later. I have enough for two." When Mickey remained silent, Ian finally looked at him and sighed. "Don't worry, I'm not trying anything here. It's simply two guys getting together to discuss business. That's what this is, right? Strictly business?" On Mickey's curt nod, he continued, "We want your ex-wife to believe we're in love, so we have to do it right. Going over a few fun facts won't cut it."

Mickey nodded, knowing he was right. Knowing Svetlana and Nika, he had a feeling he and Ian were going to get seriously grilled.

"We can always go somewhere public if you want," Ian mumbled, typing again. "My place was just a suggestion."

"Your place is fine," Mickey snapped. "I just wanna get this shit over and done with."

* * *

Ian lived in a luxury, high-rise apartment building in the best part of the North Side, and Mickey felt seriously out of place as the doorman let him in and he made his way up to the 17th floor. He found the correct apartment number and hesitantly knocked on the door.

They had agreed to meet for dinner at seven, and that had given Mickey just enough time to catch the L home and take a quick shower before catching the L to Ian's place. His stomach was growling by then, and he was suddenly not regretting taking Ian up on his dinner offer. He just hoped the dude could cook.

A moment later, Ian answered the door, looking a little flushed and frazzled, which was the exact opposite of how he was at work. "Hey, right on time," he said, stepping aside to allow him to enter. "Come in."

"Thanks," Mickey grumbled as he stepped inside. He half-expected Ian to ask him to remove his shoes, but he didn't. He shut the door and watched as Ian turned and headed further into the apartment. Seeing his boss in regular, non-work clothes was fucking weird, but he didn't look bad, truth be told. He could tell, though, that Ian's grey t-shirt and well-fitted jeans probably cost more than one of Mickey's paychecks.

"Dinner's almost ready," Ian said as Mickey followed him to the kitchen island that separated the large, fully equipped kitchen from the massive living room. He opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing Mickey one. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," Mickey said again, feeling awkward, thinking the whole situation was all a little too surreal. He never in a million years thought he'd ever be standing in the middle of his boss's fancy apartment, sharing beers and discussing personal facts so they could trick people into thinking they were fucking boyfriends.

Once again, he reminded himself that he was doing it all for his kid, and it would be worth it in the end. He sat down on a stool at the island and watched as Ian resumed his cooking. He would be lying if he said the food didn't smell incredible. His stomach rumbled.

"Just a few more minutes," Ian said as he tasted the sauce he was preparing.

Mickey couldn't help but notice the way Ian's t-shirt stretched over the muscles in his back, and he forced himself to look away, reminding himself once again that it didn't matter how good the guy looked because he was the worst.

As Ian was stirring the risotto with his back still turned, Mickey took the time to take a quick look around his impressive place. Everything was decorated in beige, grey, and maroon. Everything was neat and in place. Once again, he noticed that there were no pictures of friends or family, nothing that looked personal. Just really expensive, monochrome-colored… stuff. Who the fuck was this guy?

A few minutes later, dinner was ready, and Ian slid onto the stool next to Mickey after placing their plates in front of them. "You hungry?"

"Fuckin' famished, man," Mickey said. "Haven't eaten since lunch." The food looked as good as it smelled, and he didn't hesitate to grab his fork to dig in. He shot Ian a sideways glance first. "You didn't poison me, did you? To get out of doing this?"

Ian laughed a little through his mouthful of risotto. "Just eat your free fuckin' dinner."

Mickey smirked and dug in, pleasantly surprised that Ian was actually a pretty decent cook.

"How is it?"

"Good," Mickey said simply before they fell into an awkward silence. He briefly thought about asking him where he'd learn to cook like that, but he refrained. He didn't want to seem too interested, because he wasn't.

After they finished scarfing down their meal, Ian cleared both plates, and they moved to the living room, new beers in hand.

Mickey thought Ian's couch was a little too hard and uncomfortable, and he secretly missed his threadbare, piece-of-shit couch at home.

"So," Ian started, obviously deciding to cut right to the chase. "What do you think I should know about? What's your ex-wife gonna ask?"

"Um, well, first of all, my ex-wife's name is Svetlana," Mickey began, "and her bitch fiancee's name is Nika. Probably should know that."

"Wait," Ian cut in. "I'm confused. So, you and Svetlana were married, then you got divorced, and now she's getting married to a woman?"

Mickey sipped his beer to stall and nodded. He had been dreading that particular part of the conversation.

"So, what?" Ian continued. "You're both bisexual?"

Mickey nearly choked on his beer. "Fuck, no! She is, I ain't. I'm all about cock."

Ian frowned. "But you were married to her… and you have a kid together."

Mickey sat forward to place his beer on the coffee table, then sat back. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, deciding to put it all out there. Ian was going to find out, anyway.

"It's a long story, so you're gettin' the really fuckin' short version of it," Mickey began. "My dad found out I was fuckin' some guy when I was seventeen. He hired a prostitute, paid her to 'fuck the gay out of me,' she got knocked up, I married her to keep my dad off my back, and here we are, seven years later, divorced and with a kid. My dad got shanked in prison a few years ago. Next question."

"Shit, Mickey," Ian began. "I didn't know. I wasn't—"

"Look, I don't want your fuckin' pity, alright?" Mickey snapped. "I dealt with it, it's done. Nothing anyone can do about it now."

Ian clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

Mickey looked over at him, feeling a little bad for his outburst, but not bad enough to apologize. He'd be damned if he'd let Ian fucking Gallagher pity him. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Ian asked, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"Shouldn't I know some shit about you?" Mickey retorted. "It's a two-way street, isn't it?"

Ian shrugged noncommittally and took a sip of his beer. "There's not much to know, really. I grew up as an only child on the North Side. Parents are still together and happy. Pretty cookie-cutter life… boring, you know."

Mickey didn't know why, but he had a feeling Ian wasn't telling him the whole truth. He thought about asking him why he didn't have any pictures of his family around since they were supposedly so close-knit, but he decided against it.

"So, what's your kid's name?" Ian asked, obviously desperate to change the subject.

"Yevgeny," Mickey answered, smiling gently at the thought of his kid. "He's goin' on seven." He looked down at his hands as he picked his thumb. "At first I didn't step up, didn't want fuck all to do with him, but now I fuckin' love the kid. I just… I don't know. I'm tryin' everything I can to be in his life, you know? Have a lot of making up to do."

"Yevgeny," Ian repeated, smiling. "It's a cool name."

"Fuckin' right it is," Mickey said, and he smiled a little. He looked away from Ian's intense eyes and sat forward to grab his beer.

"Any other family I should know about?"

"I have a few brothers, but they all fucked off years ago. They don't really come around anymore," Mickey said against the mouth of his bottle. "I have a younger sister named Mandy. She lives up in Elmhurst with her boyfriend, helps run a small clothing store, visits whenever she can."

"You're close to her?"

Mickey shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with the whole conversation. He never really liked opening himself up to people—least of all his boss—but, in the situation he was in, he had no choice. He soldiered on, reminding himself once again that by Thursday night it would all be over. "Yeah, we're pretty close, I guess."

"Anything else you think I should know about you?" Ian inquired. "Any past relationships?"

Mickey shrugged. "I don't do relationships," he said, wanting to steer clear away from that particular topic the most. "I fuck around a lot. Had one guy a couple years back. Aleks. He's Nika's cousin. Svetlana thought it was a good idea to set us up. Things were going good for a while, the fuckin' was decent. Then shit was starting to get serious… a little too serious for me, so I cut that shit off."

Ian sat forward and placed his own beer on the table. "I know how that is. I don't do the whole relationship stuff either. It's better to just keep shit casual, simple."

Mickey looked over at him, once again thinking how weird all of it was. He and Ian were actually being civil, actually finding out they had things in common. "Yeah, I guess you do know how it is, huh," he said, thinking about Ian's ex-boyfriend, who had obviously wanted more from him but didn't receive it.

After a short pause, he continued. "That's about it. Not much to know about me. I grew up on the South Side, had a shitty childhood with shitty parents and shitty siblings, except for Mandy. Was in and out of juvie throughout my teen years, finally got my shit together, and now…"

"Now you just wanna be with your kid," Ian finished for him, his tone soft.

Mickey nodded and looked away from Ian's eyes. He sat forward, grabbing his smokes from the coffee table. "Yeah, man. Now I just wanna be with my kid. That's all that fuckin' matters to me."

He brought the cigarette to his lips to light it, trying not to stew too much in the tension that seemed to permeate the air. He didn't see the way Ian glanced over at him, or the way his eyes slowly took in the sight of his profile before looking away.

* * *

Thursday night came much too soon for Mickey's liking.

That afternoon at work, after getting the actual work part of their day over with, Mickey and Ian had gone over a few key things, both wanting to make sure they would be able to answer most of whatever Svetlana and Nika threw at them.

Mickey hoped they wouldn't be complete bitches and just stick to trivial, general knowledge. Then again, he knew enough about relationships to know that it was perfectly acceptable to not know every single fucking thing about a person, especially after only three months, so he figured they'd be cool.

They had agreed to meet at Ian's place, then they would head over to Svetlana's in Mickey's beat-up Jeep. Showing up together in the same car had seemed like a perfectly good and reasonable first step.

"You okay?" Ian asked once they were parked in front of Svetlana and Nika's two-story South Side home.

The neighborhood wasn't nearly as shitty as the one Mickey had grown up in. In fact, since the whole gentrification bullshit a few years back, the neighborhood was actually pretty decent. It made his heart swell a little at the thought that Yevgeny was already a hell of a lot better off than he had ever been as a child. Yev had three parents who fully and unequivocally loved him, and a nice, clean house in the middle of a safe, decent neighborhood.

"Yeah," Mickey said, rubbing his lower lip. "I'm good." He glanced over at Ian, surprised for the second time that night that he seemed to have gone all out for the event. His hair was combed back and looking nice, and he wore good, fitted jeans and a dark green button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up a little. Ian smelled incredible too, but he didn't want to think too much about that. "What about you? How you feelin'?" he asked, deciding to keep things civil.

"I feel good," Ian said, smiling. "I think we have this is the bag."

"Oh, do you now?" Mickey asked, eyebrows high. "Glad one of us is so fuckin' sure about this shit."

Ian smirked as he unfastened his seat belt. "Just follow my lead. I got you."

Mickey normally didn't like to follow anyone's lead, but he decided to allow Ian to take the reins since he sure as fuck didn't know what he was doing.

They exited the jeep and made their way up to the porch.

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, hesitating for a beat before knocking. His weird mood seemed to fade away once he heard the sounds of Yevgeny's feet padding towards the door. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing a grinning Yevgeny.

"Dad!" Yevgeny exclaimed, immediately wrapping his arms around his dad's waist.

Mickey wrapped one arm around Yevgeny and bent down to kiss the top of his head. "You need a haircut, kid." He then straightened up, knowing their scheme was about to be pushed headfirst into motion once Yevgeny pulled away and noticed his dad's companion.

"Who's this?" Yevgeny asked, taking the time to size Ian up questionably.

"This is, uh—" Mickey began, hating having to lie to his kid, so he kept his answer tame. "This is my friend Ian."

"Hi, Yevgeny," Ian said with a kind smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"Hi, Ian. Nice to meet you too," Yevgeny said politely, before turning around in the next instant to head down the small hallway towards the kitchen.

Ian smiled softly at Mickey. "Adorable kid. He looks just like you."

Mickey nodded and chewed on his lower lip a little, slightly uncomfortable with the unexpected compliment.

"Come in!" Yevgeny called out. "Mama's making vatrushka!"

As they followed Yevgeny into the house, Ian leaned into Mickey and asked, "Vat-what-ka?"

Mickey fought the smile pulling at his lips. "Fuck if I know, man. Just eat it."

"Not the first time I've heard those words," Ian murmured, which earned him an elbow to the ribs. "Ah, fuck!"

Mickey and Ian entered the kitchen to find Svetlana hard at work at the stove, and Nika sitting at the island, a wineglass in front of her.

"Hey," Mickey said, avoiding Nika's hateful stare at all costs. He already knew the bitch had a smug look on her face, and she was probably only drinking to gear up for the reaming she was planning on giving them.

"You are late," Svet chastised, her accent thick.

"By five fuckin' minutes, Jesus," Mickey huffed.

"Swear jar," Yevgeny declared, pointing to a jar on the windowsill above the kitchen sink that was half-filled with dollar bills. It had been Nika's idea, thinking that Svetlana and Mickey swore way too much around Yevgeny. She was probably right, but Mickey still hated it.

Mickey stewed in irritation as he pulled out his wallet and fished out a dollar bill. Fucking bitch did whatever she could to make his life hell, including trying to dictate what he said around his own damn kid.

Svetlana turned away from the stove and narrowed her eyes at Ian, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his eyes following Mickey. "You must be idiot boss who finally warmed Mikhailo's cold, dead, shriveled heart. Must have an impressive skin stick."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Mickey groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can you not be embarrassing for once, please?"

"Uh," Ian started, looking completely caught off guard by Svetlana's bluntness.

"Ian," Mickey said as he begrudgingly heeded Yevgeny's second swear jar warning. He pushed another dollar into the jar. "His name is Ian."

"Yep, that's me. Nice to meet you," Ian said, holding out his hand for Svetlana to shake, which she blatantly ignored. He muttered 'okay' under his breath and comically pulled his hand back when Svetlana turned her back to him.

Nika snorted a little into her wine glass, obviously not impressed.

Since they were under Nika's watchful eye, Mickey walked over and sidled up next to Ian.

Once Svetlana and Nika began fussing over something about dinner, Ian leaned in and whispered, "Mikhailo, huh?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "My full name. Probably shoulda told you that."

"I like it," Ian murmured, his warm breath cascading over Mickey's neck and sending warm, unwanted chills down his spine.

"Whatever," Mickey grumbled before walking towards the fridge to grab himself and Ian a beer, suddenly needing to put some distance between them.

* * *

Dinner was ready shortly after that, and the motley crew made their way into the dining room to eat. The grownups ate in silence for a few minutes as Yevgeny regaled them with tales from his day at daycare.

Just as everyone cleared their plates, Mickey felt himself beginning to relax. The night hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it would be. So far, nothing invasive had been asked. The conversation had remained casual, and Svetlana and Nika's questioning looks hadn't been too disconcerting.

When Ian had lightly squeezed Mickey's knee under the table in reassurance at one point in the conversation, he had almost choked on his peas, but other than that, things were going smoothly.

That was until Yevgeny excused himself and disappeared into the family room to play his one hour of video games he was allowed a day. The floodgates opened then, once the adults were alone, and the questions Mickey had been dreading started.

"So, tell me," Svetlana began, crossing her arms along the table and leaning forward, her cleavage on full display. "We already know where you two met, but how exactly did it happen?"

"Yes, how did it happen?" Nika asked snidely against the rim of her glass.

Fuck, Mickey was scrambling. In the two times he and Ian had gone over fun facts and tidbits about each other, neither one of them had stopped to think about coming up with a story on exactly how the fuck they had started their 'relationship'.

"Uh, we, uh…" he stammered. He closed his eyes and sighed when Ian squeezed his knee again. Then Ian spoke.

"Truth is, I'd always had sort of a crush on him," Ian began, his hand still on Mickey's knee, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth. "I was immediately attracted to him, but I never acted on it because he was my employee. So, I bottled it up and never made a move. I acted like a dick to him, but it was because I liked him and wanted to protect myself, I guess you could say."

Mickey slowly turned his head to watch Ian as he spoke, wondering to himself why Ian seemed so sure of his words. Had the fucker rehearsed the speech without him?

Ian continued after taking a sip of his drink, "One night, about three months ago, we were both staying late at the office, working on this huge fucking project we had. It was about two in the morning before we wrapped things up. We were both exhausted and drained. I only live a few minutes from work, so I offered for Mickey to stay the night at my place, since he had to be back at work early the next morning, anyway."

Mickey reached for his drink and took a huge gulp, deciding to let Ian run with it.

"I was in the kitchen, setting up the coffeepot for the morning, when the next thing I know, I turn around and Mickey is behind me… just staring at me with this look in his eye, you know? Like he wanted to fucking devour me."

Mickey spat out his mouthful of beer, causing Svetlana to shriek, Nika to curse, and Ian to laugh. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and shot Ian a pointed look. "Funny, that's not how I remember it. You clearly came on to me, asshole."

"No." Ian scrunched his face in thought before shaking his head. "No, it was definitely all you."

Mickey smirked and looked over in time to find Nika watching them. He shuffled a little uncomfortably and hid behind his beer mug once again.

"So," Nika began. "You two are serious?"

"Yep," Ian said, removing his hand from Mickey's knee and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. He pulled Mickey to him and pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "I'm not lettin' this one go," he murmured into his hair, but loud enough for their audience to hear.

Mickey stiffened a little against him, thinking Ian was nosing at his hair a little too long.

"Huh," Nika said before sipping her wine, her eyes still trained on them.

Mickey didn't like her tone, but he didn't think too much of it when Ian finally pulled away from him. He shot him a perturbed look, and Ian smiled back softly.

* * *

A little while later, Ian and Mickey joined Yev in the family room while Svetlana and Nika cleaned up. To Mickey's surprise, Yevgeny was completely okay with sharing his video game with Ian. He stood in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, as he watched Yev and Ian play. Before he could get too lost in unwanted thoughts, he decided it was time to call it a night. They had survived relatively unscathed, and he figured he might as well cut shit off before Yevgeny became too involved in the whole thing.

Mickey headed to the kitchen to say his goodbyes, eager to get the night over with, but he halted outside the doorway when he heard Svetlana and Nika whispering. He frowned and stepped in a little closer to hear their hushed conversation better.

"I don't know," Svetlana murmured. "I think it is real. The way they look at each other…"

"Oh, please," Nika shot back, her accent thick. "There is no way it is real. They barely even touched each other. I do not believe them. Probably one of Mickey's whores he bribed into helping him. You know how manipulative he can be."

Mickey cursed under his breath and stewed in his irritation. That bitch.

"What do you want me to do here, Nika?" Svetlana retorted, sounding irritated. "We constantly are having him jump through hoop after hoop after hoop. When is enough enough?"

It was silent for a beat before Nika said, "Let's invite them to the cabin this weekend. Put them to the test, the real test."

"I don't know, Nik," Svetlana said. "All this just for him to see Yevy. We are hurting Yevgeny here too, you know. He loves Mikhailo. You see how happy he is with his father."

"If he is lying, do you really want your son… _our_ son… around a liar?" Nika asked, her voice growing softer around the edges, clearly trying to coax Svetlana onto her side. "We have to make sure Yevy is safe when he is with his father. Mickey constantly has men in and out of his life. It is no good for Yevgeny. We are only doing what is best for him. You know that."

"I don't know," Svetlana said apprehensively, and Mickey appreciated his ex-wife at that moment.

"What can it hurt?" Nika added. "If it is real, it will prove me wrong. Plus, Yevgeny would love to have all of us together for whole weekend. One big happy family, yes?"

"Don't fuckin' do it, Svet," Mickey grumbled under his breath.

"Fine," Svetlana finally relented. "I will tell them to come to cabin if it makes you happy."

Mickey listened to the wet, sloppy sounds of the two women kissing, a scowl on his face.

What right did that bitch have to want to keep his own son away from him? He then thought rationally. It would all be okay. Ian had his own life, and Mickey seriously doubted that he would take them up on their offer to spend the entire weekend at Nika's family's cabin. Still, the fact that Nika suggested such a thing pissed him right the fuck off.

Mickey headed for the family room and found Ian sitting on the couch, looking down at something Yev was showing him on his iPad. Ian was laughing, and Yevgeny was smiling up at him, looking proud of himself. The sight caught him a little off guard.

Ian looked up, his eyes questioning. His smile then faltered when he noticed the look on Mickey's face. "Everything okay?"

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Svetlana and Nika entered the room, holding hands and smiling. Fuck.

"How was dinner? You like, yes?" Svetlana asked Ian as he stood up.

Ian walked to stand next to Mickey, and he slyly wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him firmly against his side.

Mickey forced back a scowl. He couldn't fucking wait to get the hell out of there.

"Dinner was good, thank you," Ian said politely.

"So, Ian," Nika spoke, her smile a little too sugary, her tone a little too sweet. "We are going to my parent's cabin for weekend… four whole days of fun, sun, and relaxation, as they say. Svetlana and I were talking, and we would really love it if you will join us. You and… Mikhailo, of course."

Mickey shot eye daggers at Nika, but she paid him no mind.

"Yes!" Yev exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. "Dad, can you? Please!"

"We'll see, bud," Mickey lied, having no intention whatsoever of spending four days stuck in a cabin with Ian, Svetlana, and Nika. There was no fucking way.

"Ian?" Nika pressed. "Say you will come."

Mickey shot Nika eye daggers again, harder that time.

The next words out of Ian's mouth caused his stomach to drop.

"Sure, that sounds great, actually," Ian said, squeezing Mickey a little around the waist. "I didn't really have anything else planned."

Mickey slowly looked up at him, trying to keep his face in check. He didn't want Svetlana and Nika to catch on to his anger and complete bewilderment. "What?" he asked through his teeth.

Ian smiled a little and shrugged. "It sounds fun. What's wrong with fun?"

Mickey did everything he could to keep his tone light as he spoke his next words. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" he asked, hating his boss more in that exact moment than he'd ever had before. "I thought we were gonna stay home, light a few fireworks off, and grill out on the fire escape?" He then lowered his voice and said in a flat tone, "You know, like we fuckin' talked about?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ian said sweetly. "Sounds kinda lame to me. I think a weekend at a cabin sounds better."

"A cabin by a lake," Nika added for good measure, smirk in place.

Ian's eyes widened dramatically, and Mickey wanted to slap him. "Oh, a lake! I'm definitely in, then."

Mickey stared at him glaringly, wanting to rip his pretty head off.

Ian's smile faltered, and he removed his arm from around Mickey. "Um, we should really get going… have to get up early."

After they said their goodbyes and Mickey kissed Yevgeny goodnight, the pair left Svetlana's place and silently made their way down the front steps. Once they were a few yards away from the house, Mickey turned to Ian and pushed him, hard.

"The fuck is wrong with you!"

Ian regained his balance and shot him a bewildered look. "What?"

"Do you hate me or something?" Mickey bellowed. "Is your sole fuckin' purpose in life to make my life a living hell?"

"No, what? I… I…" Ian stammered.

Mickey pushed him again. "Two hours wasn't torture enough for you? Now we have to spend four days with those bitches? Four fuckin' days pretending to be in love!" He pushed him again. "The fuck is the matter with you?"

Ian opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. When Mickey pushed him again, he finally spurred into action and pushed him back. "Calm the fuck down, Mickey! Jesus! Can we talk about this like adults before you flip out?"

Mickey pushed him against a wall that time, his arm across Ian's chest, and got in his face. "You're lucky I don't kick your fuckin' ass right now."

"Do it, tough guy," Ian shot back, getting right back in his face. They were only a couple of inches apart, both of their breathing ragged as they stared each other down. "I'll march right back in there and tell them the truth."

"This is my life you're screwing with, asshole," Mickey spat. He finally stepped back after a tense pause.

Ian relaxed once Mickey's back was turned. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he regained his composure. "Look, Mickey," he began, his tone uneven. "It's not that big of a deal, okay? We'll get through this."

"Fuck you," Mickey barked before spitting on the ground and shooting him a dark, hateful look.

"All we'll have to do is just pretend for a few more days," Ian continued. "You want them to believe you, don't you? You want it to seem real, right? So you can see Yevgeny more?"

Mickey said nothing as he paced.

"You'll get to spend the whole weekend with Yev, guaranteed."

"Don't you have your own fuckin' family to spend time with instead of encroachin' on mine?" Mickey spat. He looked over at Ian in time to see a weird look cross his face. He was caught off guard for a second, but then he quickly got over it.

"They don't live around here anymore," Ian answered sullenly after a pause. "Look, if you're really so against this, you can just tell 'em I couldn't make it, that I have to work or something."

Mickey seriously considered doing just that. It would be the easier thing to do, to tell Svetlana that Ian couldn't make it, but for some reason, another part of him wanted to go through with it, if only to prove Svetlana's bitch wrong. He'd be damned if he let Nika think she was right, even though she was.

"No, fuck," he finally said. "It's four fuckin' days, right? I just have to put up with your ass for four more days. It'd be like at work, right, except I'll have to pretend to be able to stand your fuckin' ass."

Ian watched him, a glum look on his face.

"Just know I'm getting a week's worth of personal days out of this shit."

"I don't know if I can do that," Ian stuttered. "I'd have to—"

"I don't care," Mickey interrupted. "Find a way to do it."

"Wait, ain't I technically the one doing you the favor here?" Ian asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You really wanna argue with me now, asshole?"

Ian held up his hands in surrender. "Nope, we're good."

"Catch a fuckin' Uber home." Mickey spat at the ground once more, shot him another dirty look, then turned to head down the sidewalk.

As he headed for his jeep, stewing in his anger, Mickey didn't see the despondent look on Ian's face as he watched him walk away, nor did he know the real reason why Ian was going along with the whole thing, to begin with.


	2. Chapter 2

DAY ONE

Mickey pulled to a stop in front of Ian's apartment building and cut the engine. He shook his head and laughed dryly, still not entirely sure how he'd gotten himself into such a shitty situation.

Oh, right, because Ian had decided to open his big, fat fucking mouth, and had accepted Nika's invitation to her family's cabin without even fucking bothering to discuss it with him first. That's how he'd gotten into the situation. He should be at home, getting ready to spend the long weekend setting off shitty fireworks, eating burnt hot dogs and burgers, and bonding with his kid. Instead, he had to wake up at practically the ass crack of dawn to pick up his boss so they could go spend the entire four-day weekend together at his ex-wife's girlfriend's cabin playing fucking house.

Fuck his life… and fuck Ian, especially.

He glanced at the clock on the dash, seeing it was already ten past ten. Ian was late, and that was irritating him even further. Just as he was about to get out of the jeep and stomp his way up to Ian's place to bang on his door, Ian came stalking out of the building, a designer duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a coffee clutched in his hand.

He gave the horn a few obnoxious blasts, to make Ian aware of where he was parked, and to let him know he was beyond annoyed.

Ian headed for Mickey's jeep and climbed into the passenger side. "Shit, Mickey. Good morning to you too." He looked at him over the rim of his sunglasses, the corner of his mouth quirked.

Mickey shot him a pointed look as he restarted the jeep. "You're late. I said ten, not ten-ten. I already don't wanna be doin' this shit, I don't need your pestiferous ass making things more irritating than they have to be."

Ian took a sip of his coffee before shooting him a quizzical look. "Pestiferous? Where'd you learn that big word?"

"Fuck off," Mickey snapped, wanting to wipe the smirk off his stupid, stubbled face.

Ian laughed as he fastened his seatbelt. "Relax, I was only ten minutes late. It takes time to look this good." After Mickey's scoff, he added, "Think of it this way, it means ten minutes less that you'll have to put up with my pestiferous ass this weekend."

Mickey rolled his eyes before finally pulling out and getting on the road.

"So, where is this place?" Ian asked a few minutes later once they were on the tollway. He was taking a sip of his coffee. Mickey hit the brakes a little and was slightly satisfied when Ian jerked and burned his upper lip. "The fuck, Mickey?"

Mickey smirked a little but kept his eyes on the road.

"Dick," Ian muttered childishly before asking, "So, are you nervous?"

Mickey scoffed under his breath, avoiding looking over at him. Was he nervous? He wouldn't even be in the fucked-up situation if it wasn't for Ian's stupid ass. He reached forward to adjust the air conditioning. He really hoped Ian didn't intend on talking the whole hour drive up to Nika's cabin. It was too early in the damn morning for idle conversation.

"No, I'm not nervous," Mickey answered snidely. "Just wanna get it all the fuck over with."

"I hear that." Ian took another sip of his coffee before asking, "Is there anything else you think I should know about you?"

"I don't know, man," Mickey responded irritably. "I think I told you everything you need to know. We'll just roll with it. If something comes up, we'll deal with it then."

Ian nodded and turned his head to glance out the window. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry again for, you know, gettin' you in this mess. I shoulda never agreed to come. I just thought maybe we could—"

"It's whatever, man. Stop fuckin' apologizing already. It's not gonna change anything," Mickey snapped, pulling down the visor to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Yeah," Ian murmured, still glancing pensively out the window. "Guess not."

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mickey reached forward and turned the radio on. After bypassing a shitty morning talk show and an adult contemporary station, he settled on a classic rock station and began drumming his thumbs to the beat of 'Whole Lotta Love' against the steering wheel.

"This is a good song," Ian mumbled as he lazily scrolled through his phone.

"Fuckin' right it is," Mickey agreed, sending a sideways glance in his direction. "You like Zeppelin? Took you more for the Jonas Brothers' type." He laughed at his offended expression.

"I love Zeppelin," Ian replied. "Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, the Stones. Grew up on all that shit."

Mickey said nothing as he turned the music up a little louder.

So, he and Ian had something in common. Who'd have fucking thought? He was thankful for the tune pouring out from the speakers; it had proven to Mickey that Ian wasn't as lame as he had thought he was. It also gave them an excuse to not talk for a while.

* * *

A little over an hour later, after getting back on the road after the GPS had led them astray (to which Mickey and Ian bickered like an old, married couple), Mickey parked the jeep in front of Nika's family's cabin and cut the engine.

"Fuck," he said as he stared up at the impressive, two-story cabin, complete with a wrap-around porch and bordering on a massive, sparkling lake. "We're really fuckin' doing this."

"Yeah," Ian answered warily as he also looked around at the impressive scenery. "We're really doing this."

Mickey bent forward a little to get a better look through the windshield, spotting Svetlana, Nika, and Yevgeny all standing at the edge of a dock. His heart leaped into his throat when it finally started to sink in. "Shit, I can't fuckin' do this."

"Hey," Ian chided, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning a little in his seat to face Mickey more. "We can do this, okay? We are doin' this. You wanna prove them wrong, don't you? Wanna prove to them we're together?"

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and watched as Yevgeny sat at the end of the dock, a huge smile on his face, and his legs swinging playfully over the edge.

"You're doing this all for him," Ian reiterated, dipping his head a little to catch Mickey's eyes. "We got this. We can do this. Just follow my lead, alright?"

Mickey glared at him. "You better fuckin' know what you're doing."

Ian let out a soft, resigned sigh and nodded curtly. "I got you."

Mickey nodded dumbly, Ian's words oddly soothing in a way. He finally moved to get out of the jeep. He hesitantly walked around to meet Ian on the other side.

Ian exhaled and rubbed his palms against his jeans. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Mickey lied. "I guess. Don't really have a choice in this, do I?"

"Let's get this show on the road," Ian said before grabbing Mickey's hand without warning.

"Whoa, the fuck?" Mickey exclaimed dramatically, pulling his hand out of Ian's grip. "The fuck're you doing?"

Ian smirked. "Really, Mickey? How are you expecting us to do this if you won't even let me hold your hand? I'm not asking you to suck my dick, it's just holding hands. Toddlers hold hands."

Mickey rubbed his mouth, shuffled his weight a little from foot to foot, and finally relented. "Fine, gimme your fuckin' hand. Next time, warn me first before you pull some stupid shit like that."

"Warn you before holding your hand," Ian droned. "Got it."

"Stop tryin' to be cute," Mickey snapped. "This isn't a game, asshole."

Ian sighed again. "I know, alright?" He then cautiously laced his fingers through Mickey's, gauging his reaction the whole time. "You good?"

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey grumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Let's just fuckin' do this."

Ian's palm felt a little clammy against his, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Mickey figured he could deal with some innocent hand-holding.

The pair hesitantly made their way down to the dock hand-in-hand to start their charade.

"Ey!" Mickey called out once they made it to the middle of the dock. "We made it. Goddamn GPS took us through Fucksville, USA, but we made it." He watched as Svetlana and Nika looked up from where they were sunbathing, shielding their eyes from the unrelenting afternoon sun.

Svetlana looked surprised to see them; Nika looked completely displeased. That pleased Mickey.

"Dad!" Yevgeny exclaimed, jumping up to wrap his tiny arms around his dad's waist. "You're here!"

Mickey unlaced his hand from Ian's to pick Yevgeny up. He smacked a wet kiss on the boy's cheek and laughed when Yevgeny feigned disgust. "Hey, bud." He swallowed thickly and glanced back at Ian before looking back at Yevgeny. "You remember daddy's friend, Ian, right?"

Yevgeny smiled wide, his mouth stained from a cherry popsicle, and nodded enthusiastically. "Yep."

"Is it cool if he stays here with us for the weekend?"

"Yes!" Yevgeny exclaimed. His eyes then grew wide. "Can we go fishin' later?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, smiling for the first time that day. There was nothing he wanted to do more. "Yeah, you bet your ass we can do some fishin'."

After placing his son down and seeing the huge smile on his face, Mickey thought maybe the weekend wouldn't be too bad after all.

He looked over and locked eyes with Ian. Ian smiled at him and nodded gently. Mickey smiled back faintly before looking away.

So far, so good.

* * *

After grabbing their bags from the jeep, Svetlana showed Mickey and Ian to the guest room they would be sharing for the weekend.

To Mickey's absolute displeasure, there was only one full-sized bed in the room. It wasn't even queen-sized. How the hell were they supposed to sleep on that thing, together? He figured he'd keep his mouth shut about it. It might seem a little suspicious to Svetlana if he was pissed about having to sleep in the same bed with his hot boyfriend.

"We are cooking hot dogs and hamburgers for lunch on grill," Svetlana announced as she was leaving. "Come join us when you are unpacked, yes?"

"Yeah, now leave us the fuck alone," Mickey grumbled as he tossed his bag carelessly onto the neatly made bed.

"Going to do the dirty, hm?" Svetlana asked with a knowing smirk.

"Get the fuck out!"

Svetlana muttered something in Russian under her breath before leaving, closing the door behind her.

"So, it's not so bad, is it?" Ian asked once they were alone and away from watchful eyes.

Mickey scoffed as he walked over to the bedroom's only window and peered out, seeing that the room had a Juliet balcony with an amazing view of the lake. It all seemed a little too romantic, which only added to his irritation over the whole situation.

"Don't get too excited, Coppertop," Mickey snarled. "The weekend hasn't even started yet."

"Yeah, but it's goin' okay so far, right?" Ian asked, tone hopeful. "Yevgeny was thrilled to see you. Did you see his face? The kid fuckin' adores you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Did you see the way Svetlana looked at us when we—"

"Are you gonna provide commentary on everything we do?" Mickey groused as he walked to the bed and began pulling clothes from his bag.

Ian scoffed and shook his head gently before looking away. "Sorry, I'm just tryna make this as pleasant as possible for you."

"Well, good fuckin' luck," Mickey snapped. "Nothing about this shit is pleasant. This isn't a vacation. I don't wanna be here, and I definitely don't wanna be here with you. Don't forget that."

"How could I fuckin' forget," Ian mumbled as he unpacked his own bag. "Sorry for tryin' to be civil."

Mickey pulled out a few more articles of clothing before glancing over in Ian's direction. He then stopped what he was doing when he realized Ian was genuinely upset. He hated that he even felt bad about the fact that Ian was upset. Since when did he care about anything concerning Ian at all?

He sucked his teeth a little and tossed the shirt he was holding aside. "Ey, man, look. You're right. We should just try to make the best of the situation. There's no use in being fuckin' miserable all weekend. I'm with my kid, and this place is pretty nice. Might as well try to enjoy it, right?"

"Right." Ian smiled gently before going back to unpacking.

Mickey continued watching him for a few seconds longer before returning to his own unpacking. He'd have to remind himself to cut Ian some slack. The guy was doing him a favor.

* * *

Shortly after unpacking, Mickey and Ian made their way down through the cabin's impressive kitchen and out onto the back patio where Nika was cooking burgers and shrimp kabobs on the grill.

Before announcing their presence, Ian looked at him, eyebrow quirked questionably. He reached his hand out, palm up.

Mickey rolled his eyes, already knowing where Ian's head was at, and he slapped his hand into his. "So fuckin' lame."

Ian laughed as he laced their fingers together.

Svetlana looked up from where she was preparing a fruit salad. "Oh, you are here. Good. You can help Nika with hamburgers."

Nika looked up from the grill, eyeing Mickey and Ian disdainfully over the top of her too-large sunglasses.

Mickey shot her a pointed look and felt Ian squeeze his hand in reassurance. It felt kind of nice having someone on his side for once, much to his chagrin.

"I can't wait to eat," Ian said, obviously trying to ease the tension. "The food smells good."

"That's because it is good," Nika retorted derisively before turning back to the grill.

"Thought we were having hot dogs?" Ian inquired, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Food is food, all the same to me," Nika answered. "Eat it or not. Does not matter."

Ian looked at Mickey and shrugged a little, giving him an 'I tried' look.

Mickey was surprised when he squeezed Ian's hand in reassurance, that time. He didn't think too much about why he did that and instead turned his attention to Svetlana. "Where's Yev?"

"Inside house trying to find beach ball," Svetlana said before leaning over Nika's shoulder to kiss her on the cheek. When Svetlana playfully smacked Nika's ass, Mickey scowled.

"Do you fuckin' mind?" Mickey groused. "No one wants to see that shit. We're about to eat."

"What is wrong?" Nika asked, her perfectly plucked brow arched. "You two do not like displays of affection?"

"Sure we do," Ian interrupted before Mickey could retort with a smart remark. He snaked an arm around Mickey's waist, pulling him a little closer against his side. "We can't keep our hands off each other." He leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Mickey's warm cheek. He then nosed his way to his ear and murmured, "Right, Mick?"

Mickey stiffened, surprised by Ian's bold move. He was caught completely off guard by the action, and he slowly turned his head to look up at him. He didn't even want to think about the slight shiver that had run up his spine as Ian's warm breath feathered over his skin.

With their faces only a few inches apart, Ian smiled faintly and squeezed his waist, the material of Mickey's shirt bunching under his hand.

Mickey shot him a pointed look, silently warning him to tone it down a little.

Ian, apparently unperturbed by Mickey's silent threats, slowly moved his hand over Mickey's hip and grabbed his ass through his jeans. "I can't get enough of this ass. I could just fuckin' … bite it right now."

Mickey felt his cheeks flush, and he cursed under his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his composure. What the hell did Ian think he was doing? Ass grabbing was definitely not a part of the deal. Even though it didn't feel entirely unpleasant, he was still annoyed. If Ian was going to grab his ass, the least they could do was fucking talk about it first.

Ian squeezed his ass again, getting quite the handful, and allowed his hand to linger.

As Svetlana and Nika lost interest and began discussing something inane, Mickey stood there, confused and a little perturbed, with Ian's hand grabbing his ass. Finally, he elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Enough with the ass grabbin', dickhead," he murmured. "They got the fuckin' point."

Ian finally moved his hand safely back up to Mickey's hip. After a minute, he murmured, "It is a nice ass, though."

Mickey rolled his eyes as he felt Ian shake with silent laughter against him.

Asshole.

* * *

Later that evening, after a day of lazily lounging around on the small beach and playing volleyball with Yevgeny, Mickey and Ian headed up to their room to get ready for bed, deciding to rest up for the next day.

After the whole ass-grabbing debacle, their pretend flirting had remained mild for the rest of the day, mostly sporadic hand-holding and Ian's hand on Mickey's knee at dinner. They had decided to keep it toned down for Yevgeny's sake. If Yevgeny had had any questions or concerns about why his dad was holding Ian's hand, he didn't bring them up.

"Today was good, right?" Ian called out from the bathroom, his voice muffled behind the door. "No hard questions. Just relaxin' and playin' volleyball with the kid?"

"Still got three more days to go," Mickey grumbled under his breath. He wasn't naïve enough to believe the whole weekend would go as smoothly as it had that day. Nothing in his life ever went smoothly.

He was sitting on the bed, shooting Mandy a quick text, when Ian finally exited the small, attached bathroom after taking a shower. He looked up and immediately felt like a cartoon character whose eyes were bugging out of their head. He couldn't help dragging his eyes slowly over Ian's body. The guy was tall, lean, and toned in all the right places. If he didn't hate the guy, he'd seriously want to fuck him. He quickly looked away and rubbed his bottom lip.

Unaware of the effect he was having on Mickey, Ian continued talking. "Yev is a really great kid. He's so smart. He was showing me his fishing—"

"Fuck, man," Mickey interrupted. "The fuck are you wearing?"

Ian stopped toweling his hair dry and looked down at his tiny maroon boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination. He looked back up at Mickey with a quizzical expression. "What? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Mickey was doing everything he could to not appear affected by the sight of his nearly naked, hot-as-fuck boss standing in front of him. "Couldn't you have worn something a little less, I don't fuckin' know, revealing?"

"It's, like, a hundred degrees in here."

"So, what? You just decided to wear a fuckin' pocket square to bed?"

Ian laughed, his eyes twinkling a little. "I usually sleep naked, so you're lucky I'm even wearing these."

"I can see fuckin'… everything," Mickey said, waving a hand in the general direction of Ian's crotch, still refusing to look in his direction.

"'Kay, so you know I'm packin' then?" Ian asked cockily.

"Jesus Christ."

Ian laughed and headed towards the armoire in the corner of the room where the extra blankets and pillows were kept. "Oh, relax! You act as if you've never seen a dick before."

"I've never seen yours," Mickey retorted, his eyebrows shooting up. "Didn't ever wanna have to see yours."

"Whatever," Ian scoffed. "At least I wear big boy underwear."

Mickey looked down at his own boxers, complete with cartoon squirrels and the words 'don't touch my nuts' sprawled across his crotch. "At least my boxers cover my dick."

Ian laughed again as he crouched down to go through his bag. "You're ridiculous."

For some reason, Mickey realized at that moment that he'd heard Ian laugh more in the past twelve hours than he had in the entire nine months he'd known him.

"So, what do you think we'll do tomorrow?" Ian asked as he continued to rifle through his bag. "Maybe we can do some fishing. Yev was showing me his fishing pole earlier, said they have a few extra we can use. I think it sounds fun, haven't been fishing in a long time. Can't even remember the last time, actually."

Mickey allowed his eyes to travel down the line of Ian's back and down to the curve of his ass before looking away, silently berating himself for being so embarrassing. Just because the guy looked good in tiny little boxer briefs, it didn't change the fact that he was the fucking worst.

But… damn. He looked good.

Ian was still rambling, but Mickey heard nothing he was saying. Ian grabbed a pillow and blanket from the armoire, then headed for the bed.

Mickey watched him curiously with arched eyebrows as Ian peeled the comforter back, preparing to get in. "Uh, excuse me. What the fuck are you doing?"

"What?" Ian asked dubiously, frozen in mid-action. "What's the matter now?"

"You're not sleeping in this bed with me," Mickey snapped. "So get that idea outta your head right the fuck now."

"Where am I supposed to sleep, then?"

"On the floor, that's where," Mickey snapped. There was no way in hell he was sharing the full-sized bed with Ian, a half-naked Ian at that. There was no fucking way.

"The floor?" Ian responded. "I'm not sleepin' on the floor."

"Well, you ain't sleepin' in this bed with me," Mickey retorted, standing his ground. "Figure something out."

"Oh, come the fuck on, Mickey," Ian sighed. "There's no lock on the door. Anyone could come walking in. How do you think it's gonna look if someone comes in, and I'm sleeping on the damn floor?"

Mickey crossed his arms stubbornly, his eyebrows still arched. "Fuck if I know, but it ain't happening."

"How would we even explain that?" Ian asked, clearly annoyed. "We're two heavily sexual gay men in a committed relationship, and I'm sleeping on the floor? I thought we wanted to make this thing as believable as possible?"

Mickey chewed on his lip and stared back at Ian, knowing the asshole was right, unfortunately. He knew if Svetlana or Nika caught Ian sleeping on the floor, they'd have a whole shitload of questions to answer.

After a long pause, he finally relented. "What the fuck ever. Get in, but don't think about touchin' me. Keep your ass and hands on your side of the bed, you hear me?"

Ian smirked. "Trust me, that won't be a problem."

"Better not be," Mickey grumbled under his breath. He grudgingly got under the blankets and reached over to turn off the light. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath as Ian climbed in.

After getting settled, Ian waited a full minute before saying, "You do have a really nice ass, though."

Mickey's eyes flew open, but he remained silent.

"How am I supposed to sleep with that thing right next to me?"

Mickey was glad it was dark and that his back was turned so Ian couldn't see the faint smile on his lips. Eventually, he said, "Go to sleep, dickhead."

Ian rolled away from him and laughed, again. "Goodnight, Mickey."

* * *

DAY TWO

The next morning, Mickey woke up with a heavy weight against his right side. He slowly blinked his bleary eyes open. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, and who he was in bed with.

Once he'd gotten over the fact that it wasn't all a nightmare, he glanced over at the clock on the bedside table to find that it was already mid-morning. He could hear Svetlana, Nika, and Yevgeny making noise downstairs in the kitchen. He definitely smelled bacon. The thought of breakfast made his stomach grumble.

He lifted his head a little to glance down at a still-sleeping Ian before letting his head fall back against his pillow with a groan. "What the fuck."

Ian had broken his promise. He hadn't stayed on his side of the bed at all. Instead, he was very much so on Mickey's side of the bed. He was so far on Mickey's side of the bed, that his left cheek was pressed against his shoulder, and his leg was strewn over Mickey's.

"Christ, fuckin' clingy motherfucker," Mickey groused as he wiggled under Ian's weight.

"Mmh," Ian moaned, snuggling his scruffy cheek against Mickey's shoulder. To Mickey's discomfort, he draped his arm over his chest.

Mickey licked his dry lips and eyed the strong, toned, freckled arm that was flung over him. He watched as Ian's long fingers slowly curled into a fist against his ribs, holding him.

He turned his head and stared down at Ian's face as best he could given how close Ian's face was to his. He'd never realized before that Ian had a tiny splatter of freckles dotting across the tip of his nose. He'd never realized how long his eyelashes were, or how pink his lips were…

"Ey," he murmured, shaking his shoulder to jostle Ian awake once he realized his thoughts were way out of line. "Yo! Time to get up, man."

"Five more minutes," Ian murmured sleepily, his voice gravelly and affecting Mickey in a way he was desperate to ignore.

Mickey sighed and pressed the back of his head into his pillow. His eyes widened when Ian shifted a little, his knee brushing against his morning wood; the morning wood that Mickey hadn't realized he had until then. "Fuck," he breathed. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and fought back a moan as Ian's leg brushed against him again.

He knew he had to shut shit down before things escalated. He shook his shoulder a little harder in a desperate attempt to wake Ian. "Ey, sleepyhead! Get the fuck up! I need to piss."

Ian finally lifted his head. "Huh?"

Mickey fought back a grin at the sight. Ian's bedhead was really fucking ridiculous, but also kind of fucking adorable, which was definitely a thought he didn't like having. His left cheek was tinged pink from having been pressed against Mickey's shoulder all night, and there was a trail of drool running down his chin. It was definitely a sight, to say the least.

Ian looked at him through bleary eyes, their faces only a few inches apart. "Oh, sorry," he murmured before finally rolling off him.

"What happened to you stayin' on your side of the bed, huh?" Mickey grumbled as he got out of bed, eager to relieve his full bladder.

Ian sat up and back against the headboard, rubbing his sleepy eye with the heel of his hand. A wide yawn took over his whole face, and the word 'sorry' got lost in it.

Mickey smirked at him, but he found that he wasn't as irritated as he probably should have been. Which, once again, didn't sit too well with him.

Ian finished yawning and looked down the length of Mickey's body, his eyes widening.

"What? The fuck you lookin' at?" Mickey asked before remembering his dick was hard. "Shit," he exclaimed before grabbing a pillow and holding it over his crotch.

Ian's face slowly melted into a grin. He laughed. "Uh, wow. Okay, then. I'm not the only one packing, I see."

"Asshole," Mickey grumbled before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door. He hid his smile behind the closed door before turning to take a shower; a cold one.

* * *

While Ian was showering, Mickey headed downstairs to see about breakfast. He found Svetlana alone in the kitchen, and he took a seat on one of the stools lining the kitchen island. He watched as Svetlana whipped up pancake batter, his stomach grumbling at the sight.

"I'm fuckin' starving."

"I am makin' Yev's favorite, banana pancakes."

"Takes after his old man," Mickey stated proudly, then he added, "You have any syrup?"

"Yes, we have syrup," Svetlana answered, shooting him an amused look. "Food will be ready in couple minutes."

"Where is Yev?" Mickey asked with a yawn. "Was gonna see if he wanted to head down to the lake for a bit with me and Ian, maybe do a little fishin'."

"He is with Nika," Svetlana answered as she licked pancake batter from her thumb. "We need some things from the grocery store for barbecue later."

Mickey nodded and reached forward to grab a piece of banana, to which Svetlana slapped his hand away. "Ow, bitch! The fuck was that for?"

"Do not touch," Svetlana chided. "Bananas are for pancakes, not for your cocksucker."

Mickey smirked. "And here I thought we were having a nice, civil conversation for fuckin' once."

"Speaking of cocksucker, where is lover boy?"

"Showering," Mickey answered.

"You do not shower together?" Svetlana asked, quirking a playful eyebrow.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably on his stool, trying not to think of Ian in the shower, period. "Sometimes," he answered warily, not liking where the conversation was headed. "The fuck's it to you if we shower together or not?"

"I will admit," Svetlana began as she ladled pancake batter into the hot skillet. "He is very pretty for orange boy." She then looked up in time to see a look cross his face. "What? You do not think so?"

"Don't I think so, what?" Mickey snapped, definitely not wanting to have that conversation.

"That orange boy is pretty?"

"I don't know," Mickey retorted, shifting uncomfortably in his stool a little. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"Fuckin' Christ. Of course, I think he's pretty," Mickey finally spat, knowing she wouldn't drop the subject until he answered. "I'm with the guy, ain't I?"

To Mickey's utter and complete dismay, Ian picked that exact moment to enter the kitchen. "Aw, you think I'm pretty, Mick?" he asked as he walked up next to Mickey and leaned in bravely to press a lingering kiss to his temple. "Not as pretty as you, though," he murmured against his skin.

Mickey rolled his eyes because Ian was obviously bullshitting for Svetlana's benefit. "Fuck you."

Ian pressed a quick kiss to Mickey's forehead before pulling back. "Later," he murmured suggestively.

Mickey was glad Ian seemed to be so invested in his role since he himself sure the fuck wasn't confident in anything he was saying or doing under Svetlana's watchful eye.

He caught a whiff of Ian's cologne and closed his eyes, thinking he was living in his own personal hell at that very moment.

Ian rubbed at the small of Mickey's back and leaned over him to grab some fruit, his chest brushing against Mickey's bare arm. He was rewarded with the same slap to the hand from Svetlana as Mickey had received.

Mickey took some satisfaction in that at least, then stood up to make his way to the coffeepot. He figured he was going to need caffeine in his system if he was going to make it through the rest of the day.

* * *

After spending most of the afternoon down at the lake with Yevgeny, Mickey and Ian made their way back to the cabin to get ready for the barbecue Svetlana and Nika were having.

Mickey could think of a million other things he'd rather do than have a picnic with Svetlana and Nika, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter, especially with Yevgeny being so fucking excited about it all.

Mickey and Ian both showered (separately), then they made their way outside to join the others.

Both deciding to make some sort of show of things to keep everything on track with the charade, Mickey leaned in and kissed him chastely on the cheek, just a small brush of his lips. Ian playfully slapped Mickey on the ass which earned him a disgruntled look from Mickey.

Ian joined Nika at the grill in an attempt to help cook while Svetlana and Mickey sat in lawn chairs, watching as Yevgeny played by the water.

"I must admit," Svetlana said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched Nika and Ian chatting while they cooked. "He is a lot nicer than you are. He is not the devil you made him out to be, no?"

Mickey opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but he immediately stopped when he remembered he was supposed to be in love with the guy.

He chose his words carefully. "Fuck, I don't know. Like I said, once I got to know him, he didn't seem so bad," he finally said, only then realizing that it was the truth.

Outside of work, Ian wasn't as bad as Mickey had thought. In fact, he was kind of fun to be around. They had more in common than he had realized. He even laughed at some of his dumb jokes. He would never have thought Ian was the joking type, but he'd been wrong.

"Do you love him?" Svetlana asked, catching Mickey completely off guard.

Mickey said the first thing that popped into his head; the one thing he knew he was supposed to say if they were to be believed. "I don't know. Yeah? Maybe? It's too early to fucking tell." He shifted under Svetlana's gaze. "Can we please talk about something else now?" He glanced over at Ian and watched as he laughed at something Nika said, his whole face lighting up as a result.

No, Ian wasn't bad at all.

Who knew, maybe after everything was said and done, they'd end up being friends.

After dinner was scarfed down, Mickey was helping to clear the picnic table when Ian walked up to him, looking uneasy.

"Hey."

"Hey," Mickey said, turning fully to face him when he realized Ian was obviously nervous about something. His defenses instantly went up. "What's up? Did Nika say something to you? The fuck did that bitch say to you?"

Ian shook his head curtly, seemingly avoiding Mickey's eyes, and ran a hand over his hair. Mickey's eyes followed the action. That was another trivial thing Mickey'd realized about Ian; in the heat and humidity, Ian's hair curled slightly. It looked ridiculous, but also not, and that was something Mickey didn't want to think about. He didn't want to think about why he noticed such stupid shit as Ian's hair curling in the heat.

"Gallagher, what the fuck is up with you?" Mickey snapped. "Spit it out."

"I think we should kiss," Ian finally blurted. "I think we have to kiss."

"What?" Mickey fretted, his stomach sinking. "The fuck makes you think that?"

Ian looked around before leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping. "I don't think Nika is as convinced about us as we thought. She was asking me all kinds of questions earlier like she was on to us or something."

"And you think the best way to fix that is for me to suck your face?" Mickey retorted, eyebrows high.

"Yeah, I mean… don't you think they'll find it weird that we haven't kissed in front of them yet?" Ian asked. "Look at the two of them, they've been making out all afternoon."

"That's because they're fuckin' gross."

Ian chuckled but turned serious again in the next instant. "I just think we should commit to the roles a bit more, make it more believable."

"I don't fuckin' kiss."

Ian sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "It's only for pretend, right?"

Mickey ran a hand through his damp hair and looked over to where Nika and Svetlana were blowing bubbles with Yevgeny. He then looked back at him. He knew Ian was right. They couldn't go the whole weekend without kissing at least once in front of Svetlana and Nika. It just wasn't realistic. Still, the thought of kissing Ian made him uneasy, for reasons he didn't even want to think about.

"So?" Ian pressed.

Mickey's eyebrows shot upwards. "What? You wanna kiss right now?"

"Well… yeah."

Mickey rubbed his lower lip and glanced around. After a beat, he asked, "Shouldn't we practice or something first?"

"What?" Ian asked, his eyes bright, clearly amused. "You don't know how to kiss?"

"Fuck you, I know how to kiss."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Fuck… everyone's watching," Mickey murmured, looking anxiously back towards Svetlana and Nika.

Ian laughed at that. "Isn't that the point?"

"Smartass," Mickey grumbled. He then looked at Ian, growing serious. After a moment, he said, "Alright, let's fuckin' kiss. Get it outta the way, but we're not doing it again. This is it."

"Okay… yeah," Ian agreed. "Better make it good, then."

Mickey's eyebrows shot up, and he rubbed nervously at the corner of his mouth. "No tongue. Just short and fuckin' simple, got it?"

Ian nodded affirmatively. "Got it."

"How do you wanna do this?"

Ian shrugged. "Let's just go for it."

"Yeah?"

Ian nodded. "Yeah." He visibly swallowed, rubbed his palms against his jeans, and said, "You want me to start, or should we… where should I put my hands?"

"I don't know, put 'em on my hips or something."

"Should I put—"

"For fuck's sake," Mickey groused before grabbing him by the nape of the neck and pulling him in for the kiss. "C'mere."

Ian sucked in a breath when their lips pressed together. After a few seconds, they slotted their mouths better, and the kiss softened. Mickey's hand was strong on the back of his neck, and Ian, after a moment of stupefied hesitation, grabbed him by the hips, pulling him in a bit closer.

Mickey froze a little when Ian licked at his lips, but then he thought 'fuck it', might as well give Svetlana and Nika a good show. He opened his mouth to Ian, and their tongues touched. Kissing Ian wasn't horrible. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. He had never been much of a kisser, especially in the slow and sensual way they were kissing then, but he thought maybe if it were with someone else, he could eventually get used to kissing. When Ian cupped the back of his head, he allowed him to do it if only to make the kiss seem more convincing.

Before the kiss could intensify, Mickey pulled away abruptly. Not even allowing himself to process any of it, he looked towards Svetlana and Nika to find them watching.

"Think they saw us," Mickey murmured, missing the fact that Ian's eyes were still closed. He then missed the way Ian's eyes slowly opened, and the way Ian's eyes slowly searched the side of his face. "Let that bitch doubt us now."

Ian finally released Mickey's hips and took a step back.

Mickey looked at him and reached up to gingerly wipe the corner of his own mouth. "Not bad, Gallagher," he said. "I thought you were pretty fuckin' convincing." He smiled gingerly and went back to collecting the trash from the table.

"Yeah," Ian breathed, the look of disappointment on his face hidden behind Mickey's back.

* * *

A little while later, Mickey was sitting on top of the picnic table, enjoying a much-needed smoke. He was trying not to pay too much attention to Ian and Svetlana standing down by the dock, deep in conversation. He couldn't help but wonder what she was saying to Ian, what she was asking him. He just hoped Ian didn't fuck anything up. So far, their whole scheme was going smoothly, smoother than he had ever expected.

Another reason he kept looking in Ian's direction was the fact that at some point during the day, he had removed his shirt. Mickey didn't want to keep eyeing him up, but it was something that kept happening, seemingly against his will.

"Hey, dad."

Mickey took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it away and making room for Yev on the picnic table. "What's up, kid? You havin' fun?"

"Uh huh," Yevgeny said.

Mickey bumped his shoulder against his son's. "What's with the face, huh?"

Yevgeny played with the football in his hands and finally looked up at his dad, his eyes squinting against the sun. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me whatever the fuck you want, you know that."

"You owe the swear jar when we get home."

Mickey rolled his eyes at that.

Yevgeny looked down at the ball in his hands, seemingly hesitant about asking his question. "Is Ian your boyfriend?"

Mickey's heart sped up. That was the one question he had been dreading the most, knowing he was going to have to lie to his kid. "Uh, we're—"

Yevgeny didn't give him a chance to answer. "I hope so," he said. "I like him. He's nice to me."

Before Mickey could respond, Yevgeny hopped off the table and went running down to where Ian and Svetlana were standing. He watched with a heavy heart as Ian bent down to listen to what Yev had to say. He then nodded and grabbed the ball from Yev's hands. Yev ran a few yards and turned in time to catch the ball Ian threw to him.

He watched as Ian and his son continued playing catch, not exactly knowing how to process the emotions the scene emitted.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey looked up from his phone and watched as Ian exited the bathroom.

Ian slowly and stiffly made his way over to the bed. His skin was burnt from the sun, and he was obviously in pain.

"Shit, man, didn't you wear sunscreen?" Mickey asked, tossing his phone aside. "I watched you slather that shit on."

"Yeah," Ian answered before hissing. He slowly lowered himself facedown on the bed and let out a whimper, his face scrunched in pain. "Doesn't matter how much I put on, though, I always burn. One of the downfalls of being a ginger."

"You fuckin' think?" Mickey exclaimed. While Ian's eyes were closed, he took the time to drag his eyes down Ian's mostly naked body. He swallowed thickly and looked away. The whole fake relationship thing would be so much fucking easier if he didn't look the way he did.

"I need some aloe in the worst fuckin' way," Ian mumbled.

Mickey ran a hand through his damp hair and spoke before he could really think it through. "I think I saw some aloe in the medicine cabinet yesterday." He then swallowed thickly and asked, "Want me to grab it for you?"

"Could you please?" Ian nearly whined. "I can't fuckin' move."

Mickey got up from the bed and entered the small bathroom. He returned a second later and sat down on the bed. He tossed the bottle of aloe in Ian's direction. "There ya go."

Ian pushed himself up by his arms but then collapsed back onto the bed in the next instant. "Fuck, that hurt."

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, already knowing what was coming next.

"Can you—" Ian began. "Can you just slather some on my back real quick? My back hurts the worst."

Mickey eyed the muscles of his toned, sunburned back. He knew it would be a really bad fucking idea, but the guy was in pain. He kinda had no choice in the matter, right?

"You fuckin' owe me for this," Mickey grumbled as he grabbed the bottle of aloe and popped the lid open. He squirted a liberal amount on Ian's skin and carelessly began to rub at it. His skin was hot to the touch.

"Ah, fuck, that hurts," Ian cried out. "Do it softer."

Mickey rolled his eyes but slowed his strokes down. He watched as his hand slowly smoothed over Ian's back, working the aloe into his hot, pink skin.

Ian dug his face into his pillow and moaned. "Feels good," he said, his words muffled.

Mickey chewed on his lower lip as he dragged his eyes over Ian's skin. He moved his hand down slowly, stopping at the top of Ian's boxer briefs before moving his hand back up, watching as tiny goosebumps formed on his skin.

Ian moaned again, and Mickey thought maybe he'd never heard anything sound better before in his life.

The fuck was he thinking?

"Can you get my whole back?" Ian practically whined.

"Fuckin' greedy," Mickey murmured. Before he could fully process what he was doing, he moved and maneuvered himself over Ian. He sat down on Ian's legs, right below his butt, and used both hands to massage Ian's burnt skin, making sure to keep his strokes slow and gentle. "Feel better?" he asked, his voice slightly raspy.

Ian let out a soft, satisfied sigh. "Feels good."

Ian's arms were laying at his sides and, just barely, he began slowly moving his finger back and forth against the side of Mickey's leg.

Mickey swallowed hard, wondering how such a little touch could send his heart racing.

He knew that it was all a bad idea. He knew he should stop before anything escalated, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Ian's body felt too good under his hands, the noises he was making sounded too good to his ears.

"I like your hands," Ian mumbled. "They're nice."

"Yeah?" Mickey asked before thinking, his voice thick. He licked his dry lips. He slowly moved his hands up, massaging them into Ian's shoulders before slowly dragging his hands back down, his thumbs pressing gently into the dimples above Ian's ass.

"Mm," Ian moaned filthily.

"Fuck," Mickey breathed inaudibly.

Before he could say or do anything stupid—like bend down and lick those dimples—the door opened, and Svetlana came barging in. "We are lighting off fireworks down by the lake in ten minutes."

Mickey flew off Ian, nearly tumbling over the side of the bed in the process, and whirled around to face his ex-wife. "Get the fuck out!"

Svetlana crossed her arms and fixed him with an amused look. "Are you doing dick in ass stuff?"

"No, we're not doing… fuckin' dick in ass stuff!" Mickey shouted. "Get the fuck out!"

Svetlana rolled her eyes, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

"And learn how to fuckin' knock!" Mickey yelled at the closed door.

Ian rolled over onto his back, grimacing in pain the whole time, and looked at him with a frown.

Mickey refused to look in Ian's direction. In fact, he needed to get his head back in the fucking game and remember what he was doing. It was all supposed to be an act. There was no reason in hell he should be rubbing him down with aloe while no one was around; no reason in hell why he should be thinking about Ian differently, looking at him differently.

Fuck, get one hot guy in front of him and, apparently, he turned into a fucking moron who couldn't keep his goddamn hands to himself.

He vowed, from there on out, that he was going to stick to the original plan. Things between him and Ian were to remain strictly professional. No more kissing and groping. Hand-holding and hugs were a go, but that was it. They had a little more than two days to go, then he could go back to his normal life; his normal life where Ian was his annoying-ass boss and nothing else.

From the bed, Ian asked, "What's wrong?"

"Finish rubbin' yourself down," Mickey retorted. "I'm gonna take a shower." He ignored the glum look on Ian's face right before he shut the bathroom door.

* * *

After they set off fireworks a little while later, much to Yevgeny's delight, Svetlana walked up to Mickey and Ian who were casually sitting on top of the picnic table, where they'd had an awesome view of the fireworks over the lake.

Both Ian and Mickey had barely said two words to each other since the aloe incident a couple of hours earlier, and Mickey didn't mind it that way. The less they talked to each other the rest of the weekend, the fucking better.

"Nika and I are going to put Yev to bed, then we will be heading to bed," Svetlana said, wrapping her arms around herself against the slight chill in the night air. "If you want, there is a nice little pool hall a few minutes down the road from here. Could be fun, yes?"

Mickey said nothing as he continued smoking his cigarette and looking out towards the dark lake. He spat at the ground, sniffed, and remained silent.

Ian smiled at Svetlana in kind. "Sure, sounds fun. Maybe we'll go check it out."

Svetlana said her goodnights before escorting a sleepy Yevgeny into the cabin.

Mickey stubbed out his cigarette and looked over to find Ian watching him. "The fuck are you lookin' at?"

"Did I do or say something wrong earlier?"

Mickey scowled and got up from the picnic table. "Come on, man, don't make this weird. Why do you always need to talk about shit?"

"You're the one making it weird. You haven't said one word to me since we've been out here," Ian said. "Just wondering if I did something wrong?"

Mickey looked down at his shoes and scratched the back of his neck. He knew Ian was waiting for him to say something, so he went with something safe and said, "You wanna check out that pool hall? I could go for some pool right now. Maybe some fuckin' alcohol."

"Yeah," Ian answered after a slight hesitation, "Yeah, I could go for some pool."

"Let's fuckin' go, then."

* * *

A little while later, Mickey and Ian found the small pool hall a little down the road and pulled into the parking lot.

"Place looks like a fuckin' dive," Mickey grumbled as he cut the engine. The fluorescent sign was only half lit up, and the place looked like it hadn't been painted or landscaped in decades. He was half-expecting a tumbleweed to blow across the potholed parking lot.

Ian and Mickey walked into the small bar, and they were pleasantly surprised by what they found inside. The interior was a lot nicer than the shabby, rundown exterior. A bar lined one side of the place, tables and booths lined the opposite wall, and four pool tables were set up in the middle of the space.

They made their way to the bar to order their drinks. The bartender walked up, his attention focused solely on Ian, much to Mickey's slight irritation. "Hey, what can I get ya?"

"Uh, I'll take a draft beer," Ian said as he pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. "I wanna start a tab. Put his on my tab as well."

Mickey watched as the bartender nodded, his eyes lingering on Ian a little too long.

"And you?" the bartender asked, barely looking in Mickey's direction.

"I'll take a draft," Mickey huffed.

The bartender poured their beers from the tap. When he placed the mugs down in front of them, his eyes once again landed on Ian, a flirty smirk on his face.

Ian grabbed his beer and sipped at it, seemingly unaware that the bartender was checking him out.

Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed his own mug before turning abruptly. "Let's fuckin' go."

"What's wrong?" Ian asked as he followed him through the crowd.

"You didn't have to pay for my beer like I'm your bitch."

"Now you're mad because I'm paying for your drinks?" Ian asked incredulously.

"That, and the asshole back there couldn't stop staring at you." Mickey didn't know why he was so irritated by that fact, just that he was. Maybe it was because the guy assumed that he and Ian weren't together, like Ian was too good for him or something. Maybe it was something else.

"He wasn't staring at me," Ian said with a chuckle. "Besides, why would he wanna look at me when you were standing right there?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, not believing Ian's words for one second, even though he sounded so fucking earnest like he actually believed he was hot or something.

They made their way through the crowded space and headed for an empty booth in the back corner. The place was packed, which wasn't surprising considering it was a Saturday night, and everyone was out celebrating the extended holiday weekend.

They slid into the booth and both fell silent as they sipped their beers and looked around the place. Mickey and Ian seemed to be the soberest patrons in the joint.

Mickey quickly downed his beer, intent on changing that. After the last few days, he needed some fucking alcohol in his system.

"So," Ian spoke first after downing half of his own beer. "Still don't wanna talk about what was buggin' you back at the cabin?"

"Nope," Mickey said, sucking his wet bottom lip into his mouth and avoiding Ian's stare.

"Alright," Ian snipped. "You wanna play some pool, then?"

Mickey nodded, figuring playing pool would be less awkward than Ian trying to get him to talk. They each grabbed another beer before going in search of a table.

Luckily for them, a pool table was open. Ian grabbed a cue stick and chalked up the tip as Mickey racked the balls, his tongue touching the corner of his mouth in concentration. He didn't notice the small, fond smile tugging at Ian's lips at the sight.

"You're up, hotshot," Mickey said as he took a sip of his beer, eyeing Ian over the rim of his mug. He watched as Ian bent to line up his shot and, once again, he thought to himself how good Ian looked. He scoffed at himself in disgust and took another large gulp of his beer.

Ian concentrated, lined his shot, slid the cue stick in and out of his arched finger slowly, then completely missed the cue ball altogether.

Mickey let out a hearty laugh. "The fuck was that?"

"Haha," Ian retorted.

"You fuckin' blow!" Mickey bellowed. "I thought you said you were good?"

Ian shot him a disgruntled look. "I'm a little rusty, alright? I haven't played in a while."

Mickey laughed again as he bent down to line up his own shot. He easily made three solids in a row before it was Ian's turn again. He smirked in Ian's direction, which earned him an eye roll in return. As Ian bent to line up his next shot, he averted his eyes behind Ian to find two guys watching them.

"What the fuck," Ian grumbled when he missed his shot.

Mickey watched as the guys leaned in to murmur to each other and, just as he knew they would, they walked over.

"You guys interested in a game?" the shorter, stockier man in a flannel shirt asked. "Winning team gets a hundred bucks."

"Nah, we're all good. Thanks," Mickey snapped, knowing he would essentially be handing the two assholes his money if Ian's last few shots were any indication.

"Come on, Mick," Ian spoke up, chalking his cue stick, a small smile on his face. "It could be fun."

"Yeah, come on, Mick," the second guy taunted in amusement, throwing his friend a knowing look.

"I don't fuckin' think so," Mickey said. He walked around the pool table and grabbed Ian by the elbow to drag him away from the two strangers' ears. "We are not playin' them, asshole. The fuck's wrong with you?"

"Why not?"

Mickey's eyebrows knitted together. "Why not? Because you fuckin' suck, that's why not."

Ian leaned in then, surprising Mickey, and pressed his forehead against his. "Just trust me, okay? I got this."

Mickey found himself momentarily dumbstruck, having Ian's face so close to his, having Ian in his personal space. When Ian pulled away, it felt as if he'd pulled Mickey's breath with him. He scrubbed a hand down his face and turned to watch as Ian accepted the guys' invitation for a game, shaking their hands to cement the deal.

"We'll let you two shoot first," the first guy said, sending his friend another knowing smirk.

"Wanna rack 'em?" Ian asked Mickey.

"Yeah. Sure," Mickey snapped as he racked the balls. Un-fucking-believable. If Ian wanted to play teams for money, so fucking be it, but he just hoped Ian knew that it was Ian's money they were playing with and not his.

Once the balls were in place and Ian broke them up, Mickey stood back and watched as Ian bent forward to line up his shot. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes as Ian took his time like that would fucking matter. The guy sucked.

Ian surprised them all when he hit the cue ball head on, knocking a striped ball into each back corner pocket.

"The fuck?" Mickey murmured. In the corner of his eye, he could see their new friends standing up a little straighter.

Looking concentrated and determined, Ian made his way around the table, clearing it in under a couple of minutes. He finally shot the eightball into the intended pocket before standing up straight with a shit-eating grin in Mickey's direction. "Well, look at that. I'm not so rusty after all." He then glanced back at the two disgruntled men. "Time to pay up."

Mickey watched in shock as the taller man slapped a hundred dollar bill into Ian's open palm before the two men stalked away, grumbling under their breaths. As he eyed a sweaty, grinning Ian, suddenly every porn he'd ever watched involving a pool table flooded his mind.

Ian walked around to where Mickey was standing and laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He pushed his hair back away from his sweaty forehead and wiped his forehead with his forearm.

"The fuck was that?" Mickey snapped. "You played me."

"No, I played them," Ian clarified as he grabbed his beer and guzzled the rest of it.

Mickey watched as Ian's Adam's apple bobbed and looked away when he realized he was staring.

"I saw them eyeing us up as soon as we took the table, knew they were lookin' for a game," Ian explained with a shrug. "Wanted them to think I sucked, knew they'd take advantage of it. I was right." He then laughed when he realized Mickey was trying to process it all. "Come on, let's go do some shots with all this money I have now."

Mickey followed him to the bar and sidled up next to him. As Ian ordered their shots, he scrubbed a hand down his face, still trying to wrap his head around everything. Three days ago, Ian had been his annoying, shithead boss. Now, he was actually finding himself liking his company. He was starting to see him in a whole new light, and he knew that that was only going to make things even more fucking difficult.

Ian's arm brushed against his, and Mickey couldn't ignore the spark he felt in that simple touch. What the fuck.

Ian handed him his shot and lifted his own in the air. "So, what should we toast to?"

"I don't fuckin' know, man," Mickey groused, still feeling a little dumbstruck over it all.

"How about to us bein' friends?" Ian said, smiling a little.

Mickey smirked at that, but he clinked his shot glass against Ian's anyway.

* * *

Three hours and about ten shots apiece later, Mickey and Ian finally made it back to the cabin after their twenty-minute walk back. They had decided to be safe and leave the jeep at the bar, intending on picking it up the next morning.

As they were making their way up to the porch, drunkenly singing a song they'd heard playing on the jukebox earlier, Ian stopped suddenly, grabbing Mickey's forearm.

Mickey turned his head to gaze at him quizzically. "The fuck's wrong?"

"Don't feel like going inside yet," Ian slurred, hiccuping. "Let's stay out here for a bit, enjoy the night. It's a nice night. It's warm, the stars are out." He then looked up at the sky, his mouth slightly agape. "There's so many out here."

"You're fucking drunk," Mickey bellowed, laughing.

"Not that drunk," Ian slurred. "Only had, like… three, er… four beers."

"Bullshit, you had four beers." Mickey was smiling so hard, his cheeks were starting to hurt a little. "Try fuckin' ten!"

"Come on, let's swim," Ian suddenly declared, toeing out of his shoes.

"Don't think that's fuckin' safe," Mickey stammered. "You can't even stand right now, let alone swim."

"We won't go in too deep," Ian drawled. He then almost toppled over as he lost his balance while trying to remove his socks.

"You're ridiculous, man," Mickey said, laughing heartily. "Such a fuckin' lightweight."

Mickey felt pleasantly drunk, and light, and fucking incredible at that moment. He looked over in time to see Ian reaching back and tugging his shirt over his head. He was caught off guard by the sight of bare skin and asked thickly, "What're you doing?"

Ian looked at him and grinned as he undid his shorts. He stepped out of the garment before answering. "What's it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're taking off your fuckin' clothes," Mickey stammered. He glanced back at the cabin, to ensure that no one was awake. All the windows in the place were dark, so he assumed they were good. He looked back at Ian with arched eyebrows.

"Goin' skinny dipping," Ian said as he then removed his boxers.

Mickey quickly looked away before he could see too much, even though, truth be told, a part of him was curious as hell to see what Ian was packing. "The fuck…"

Ian laughed a little. He then turned to head for the lake, his bare ass pale in the moonlight. "You comin' in or what?" he asked over his shoulder as he waded into the water. "Water feels good. It's warm."

Mickey rubbed at his mouth and looked out at Ian, who was grinning at him from the water, daring him to come in with a slight jerk of his head. He knew that going into the water with Ian probably wasn't a good idea. In fact, he knew it was a terrible fucking idea. They were both intoxicated, and they would both be naked, but, he considered, it was a hot-ass night, and the water did look pretty fucking good.

"Fuck it," Mickey conceded a second later before reaching back and tugging his own shirt over his head. He removed his shorts and boxers and quickly waded into the warm water. It really did feel incredible. He made his way over to where Ian was, and they both moved until they were chest deep in the water.

Ian smiled at him before going under. He resurfaced a second later wet, beads of water rolling down his face.

"Can't believe you talked me into doing this," Mickey muttered as he watched Ian push his wet hair back.

"Didn't seem like I really had to pull your arm too much," Ian responded with a soft, playful smile as he slowly swam closer to him.

When Ian stopped a couple of feet from him, Mickey went under. When he popped back up, Ian was only inches away that time, his eyes searching his.

"You look good wet," Ian said, the same playful smirk on his lips.

"You're drunk," Mickey said again, his eyes involuntarily dropping to Ian's quirked lip.

"Not that drunk," Ian rasped as he swam a bit closer.

Mickey swallowed thickly, knowing he needed to shut shit down before things went too far. He didn't care how good Ian looked all wet and daring. He didn't care how fast his heart pounded in his chest. He didn't care how much he wanted to kiss Ian at that moment.

Just before Ian moved in for the kill, Mickey swam out of the way, swimming behind him.

Ian turned and looked at him, his eyebrow cocked playfully. He then laughed when Mickey cocked his own eyebrow in question.

"Been thinkin'," Ian said thickly as he and Mickey slowly moved in a circle, the water softly swirling around them.

"Yeah?" Mickey rasped, unable to take his eyes away from Ian's no matter how hard he tried. "About what?"

"That kiss earlier," Ian answered, his eyes dropping to Mickey's soft, plump, wet lips again. "I wouldn't mind doing it again. It felt good."

Mickey's heart sped up, and his head was spinning. He didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or because of something else.

Ian swam a little closer. That time, Mickey didn't swim away; he just kept his eyes trained on Ian. "I wanna kiss you again, Mickey," he murmured, his eyes once again dropping to Mickey's lips.

Mickey's eyes searched Ian's, his heart pumping in his throat, and the alcohol thrumming through his veins.

"I wanna kiss you for real this time," Ian murmured, only inches away from Mickey. "Wanna taste you."

Mickey swallowed the thick lump in his throat. He knew it was a bad idea, a massive fucking mistake, but the truth was, he wanted to taste him too. "Fuck you waitin' for?"

Ian didn't hesitate. He swam forward and pressed his wet lips against Mickey's.

Mickey reached up and dug his fingers into Ian's wet hair, tugging lightly as the kiss quickly intensified.

Ian moaned into Mickey's mouth as their tongues tangled. His large hand cupped the back of Mickey's head, while his other hand gripped his hip under the water, holding him close.

Mickey kissed him back just as fervently as Ian was kissing him. Ian tasted like whatever the fuck those apple shots they had downed at the bar had been. He removed his fingers from Ian's hair, trailed his fingertips down the line of his jaw, and down his neck before resting his palm over Ian's chest, wanting to feel the part of his body he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of over the past couple days. He could feel his heart racing under his fingertips.

Ian pulled back from the passionate kiss and dug his face into the crook of Mickey's neck. "Fuck," he said, breathless. "You're a really good kisser."

Mickey mindlessly leaned in and brushed his lips against Ian's bare, wet shoulder. The simple, affectionate action took him by surprise. He pulled away, suddenly feeling sober. He avoided Ian's eyes as he waded backward towards the shore.

"We, uh, we should go inside," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Ian asked, hope in his voice.

"No," Mickey said abruptly. "We should go inside to sleep. I don't know what you think this is, but it was a mistake, you hear me? Never shoulda happened. We're drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," Ian said for the third time that night, softer that time.

Mickey scoffed. "We're both drunk, that's all this was." He turned and made his way out of the water. He snatched up his wet, sandy clothes and headed for the cabin. He heard the water swooshing behind him as Ian finally began to follow.

Once inside, Mickey took a quick shower and entered the bedroom afterward to find a robed Ian sitting at the foot of the mattress. He avoided his eyes at all costs as he walked to the bed. He got under the blankets and closed his eyes, eager to go to sleep and forget any of it even happened.

"I'm sorry," Ian muttered after a long stretch of silence. "For kissing you. I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't apologize. It's done. It didn't happen, and it doesn't matter," Mickey snapped. "Just go to sleep."

"I can sleep on the floor if you want me to," Ian said after a pause, his voice sounding small.

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat and kept his eyes closed. He breathed unevenly for a beat before saying, "Don't make this fuckin' weird. Don't turn this into something it wasn't." He felt the bed shift as Ian stood up. A second later, he heard him vomiting into the toilet. He finally opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

He no longer felt drunk, or light, or incredible. If anything, he felt like a fucking asshole, but he knew it was for the best. They would wake up in the morning, and he would chalk it all up to them being drunk, stupid, and reckless.

That's all it was.

That's all it could be.


	3. Chapter 3

DAY THREE

The next morning, Mickey blinked his bleary eyes open and immediately looked to his right. Ian had stayed on his own side of the bed that morning. In fact, he was so far on his side of the bed, Mickey was surprised he hadn't tumbled over the edge during the night.

He allowed his eyes to linger only a few seconds over the planes and dips of Ian's bare back before averting his eyes to the ceiling.

The events of the night before came flooding back, and he felt sick all over again. He and Ian had kissed. He had definitely kissed Ian back. They had both definitely been drunk, but he had a sinking feeling that the alcohol had nothing to do with it. He had wanted to kiss Ian. He hadn't put up a fight when Ian initiated the kiss. Hell, if he was being honest with himself, he might as well have held a sign above his head saying, 'kiss me already, asshole.'

The entire time they had spent at the bar, now that he thought about it, had been filled with lingering looks and fleeting touches and subtle flirting.

Suddenly, he remembered Ian's hand on the small of his back as he leaned in to say something against Mickey's ear when the music had been a little too loud. He remembered the way he had laughed at one of Ian's stupid fucking jokes, their eyes lingering a tad too long as they chuckled into their beer mugs. He thought about how Ian had reached over at one point, unsteady on his feet and falling against Mickey's side a little, as he'd lightly traced a finger over his knuckle tattoos, asking Mickey when, why, and how he'd gotten them. He remembered how he had stared at the side of Ian's face, his heart pumping in his throat, and the sudden, unexpected, and unwanted thought about what Ian's neck would taste like, smell like.

It had been building up the entire night, without him even realizing it, but as much as he had wanted to kiss Ian at the moment, it had been a mistake. They had been letting the small, casual intimacies of their charade affect them in a way that neither of them had anticipated. Ian's smile, laugh, scent, and jokes (and that fucking body) had gotten to him more than he could've ever fucking imagined those things would get to him, and, because of that, he had gotten stupid. He'd gotten reckless. He had to put an end to it. He had to get his, and Ian's, head back in the game and do what they'd come to do, trick Svetlana and Nika into thinking they were dating. That was it.

There was no way in hell that anything could happen between him and his boss. It was out of the question. He didn't do romance, and he sure the fuck didn't do romance with his boss. He'd done a lot of stupid shit in his life, but getting involved with Ian wouldn't be one of them.

He shot Ian's back another quick glance before sitting up. He groaned and clutched at his aching head. Even though Ian had splurged the night before and had gotten the best and most expensive top-shelf alcohol, the hangover he was experiencing was an absolute bitch.

He climbed off the bed, being careful not to wake Ian (nowhere near ready to have that conversation yet) and headed for the bathroom. He turned the water on hot, despite it being in the 90s outside, and relished in the feeling of the hot water cleansing his skin. The sharp sting also aided in waking him up a little.

After lathering up his hair and screwing his eyes shut so he didn't get shampoo in his eyes, he blindly reached for what he assumed was his soap and poured a liberal amount of it into his palm. As he soaped up his body, it took him a few seconds to realize he had accidentally grabbed Ian's soap instead of his own. It smelled a little woodsy, and a little like vanilla, and… like Ian.

The mixture of the hot steam surrounding him and the scent of Ian's body wash teasing his senses started to get to him in a way he wasn't expecting nor wanted. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Before he could fully consider what he was doing, he slid his soapy right hand down from his chest, over his stomach, and stopped at his hardening dick.

He hadn't gotten off in a few days, which was a few days too long, in his opinion.

He wrapped his warm, soapy fingers around his cock and gave it a few lazy pulls. With his free hand, he splayed his fingers against the shower wall and hung his head under the spray, washing the shampoo from his hair. He sighed and decided to go for it. A quick jerk in the shower never hurt anybody.

He continued to jerk himself off, knowing it wouldn't take much. Against his will, he thought about Ian lying in bed just beyond the closed door. He thought about the taut muscles of Ian's bare back, and the way the soft flannel sheet barely covered Ian's hip. With that image in his head, he came easily with a soft gasp. He stayed under the spray for a few minutes longer to catch his breath before finally turning off the water. He scrubbed a hand over his wet face and cursed under his breath.

As if Mickey hadn't been dreading the conversation with Ian enough as it was, he had to go out and face Ian after he'd just jerked off to the thought of him in the shower.

Fully and unequivocally disgusted with himself, he snatched the towel from the rack beside the shower and wrapped it around his waist. He reentered the bedroom and froze when he saw Ian was up and sitting against the headboard. He had really been hoping he'd have enough time to perfect what he was going to say. He'd also been hoping he'd at least be dried and fucking dressed before having the talk.

He didn't miss the quick way Ian's gaze swept over his half-naked body. He also didn't miss how quickly Ian looked away, his cheeks flushing slightly as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Deep down, he hated himself all over again, because he didn't mind the way Ian looked at him, even though he knew he should mind.

"Hey," he rasped, watching as Ian continued to avoid looking at him.

"Hey," Ian murmured. "Done in there?"

"Yeah, man. It's all yours," Mickey answered.

Ian hesitated a second before flinging the sheet off his body. He stood up and headed towards Mickey as he rubbed at his sleepy eyes.

For a split second, Mickey thought Ian was going to stop in front of him. He swallowed thickly and waited. He waited for an outburst, a dirty look, anything. Instead, Ian headed into the bathroom and shut the door behind him without another word.

Mickey stared at nothing in particular. He shifted his jaw back and forth a few times. He inhaled once, twice, then he turned and glared at the closed door.

"So, we're not gonna talk about what the fuck happened last night?" Mickey was a little shocked at himself. He should've been over the fucking moon that Ian didn't seem to want to bring up the shitshow from the night before, but for some reason, he wasn't happy about it.

The door opened a second later. Ian stared at him, his mouth foamy with toothpaste as he angrily brushed his teeth. He arched an eyebrow. Mickey didn't really know why, but he found the sight hot as all fuck.

After some intense glaring and a small stretch of silence, Ian removed the toothbrush from his mouth and said through the foam, "So… talk."

Mickey smirked and crossed his arms over his bare chest. He was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was still only wearing a thin towel. "Finish doing what you gotta do first, then we'll talk."

Ian laughed a little sarcastically and turned to spit in the sink before turning to face him fully. He took a couple of steps into Mickey's personal space.

Mickey dropped his arms at his sides and glanced up at Ian. He swallowed thickly, suddenly wishing he had put on some clothes first before starting the confrontation. He hoped his dick would behave.

"Talk now," Ian said, his eyes briefly dropping to Mickey's lips before looking back up. When Mickey immediately didn't say anything, he continued, "There isn't really anything to say, is there? You said it all last night."

"What? What the fuck do you want me to say here?" Mickey asked, finally finding his voice. "What are you expecting outta this?"

The look Ian gave him was indiscernible, his jaw stiff, his eyes searching. He seemed to be processing what he wanted to say. He finally opened his mouth but immediately closed it. He finally started to visibly relax and tore his eyes away from Mickey's. He turned, leaned his back against the doorframe, and ran a hand over his tousled head.

"I'm not… I'm not expecting anything here," Ian finally said, his voice no longer rough around the edges. "You were right, it was the alcohol talking. I guess I got shitty about it because I felt rejected. I don't know." He reached up to rub at his stubbly jaw before scrubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

Mickey eyed him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and run his fingers over the stubble on Ian's cheek. The fuck was with all the annoying urges all of a sudden?

"So, are we good?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together when Ian looked up at him. "We both agree it was a dumbass move, and it shouldn't have happened?"

"Yeah," Ian answered after a strained pause, nodding once and pushing away from the doorframe. "Dumbass move. It won't happen again."

"You know there's nothing here? You get that, right?" Mickey continued. "Any touching, flirting, or kissing from here on out happens only when other people are around?"

Ian said nothing; he only nodded, his eyes focused on the opposite side of the doorframe.

"Good," Mickey said. He had a feeling Ian wasn't exactly being honest about something, but he decided not to push it.

"Okay, I'm gonna go take that shower now," Ian said with a small smile, his eyes not quite meeting Mickey's.

"Yeah, please do," Mickey said. "You smell fuckin' ripe."

Ian laughed a little at that as he stepped into the still steamy bathroom.

Mickey turned to head for his bags to finally get dressed. For some reason, none of it sat too well with him. He decided to ignore that nagging, pain in the ass voice in the back of his head telling him why that was.

When he heard the door close behind him and the shower turn on, he finally relaxed. He sat down at the foot of the bed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

What the fuck? Ian was perfectly willing to blame it all on the alcohol. He was perfectly fine with it never happening again. So why did he still feel like shit over the whole thing?

* * *

After finding his son downstairs in the family room watching cartoons, Mickey decided to join him. He was always up for some cereal and cartoons. "What's up, kiddo? What're you watchin'?"

"Max and Wooby," Yevgeny said as he chased the last bites of his cereal in his bowl with his spoon.

Mickey smiled and ruffled Yevgeny's hair affectionately. "Max and Ruby, huh?"

"Uh huh," Yevgeny said distractedly, his eyes glued to the TV. "Where's Ian?"

Mickey propped his feet up on the coffee table next to his son's bowl. "He's takin' a shower. He'll be down in a minute."

"Are we gonna go fishin' today?" Yevgeny asked, looking a little too excited at the prospect.

Nika walked into the room then, much to Mickey's displeasure. "You need to finish your breakfast first, then take bath. You smell like inside of shoe."

Yevgeny pouted. "I took a bath yesterday, though."

"Too bad, you need bath," Nika said as she sat down in the chair adjacent from the couch.

"Daddy, do I have to?" Yevgeny asked, looking back at his dad with a pout and too-big eyes. He certainly knew how to get his dad to side with him. Mickey didn't mind being wrapped around the kid's finger, though.

Mickey hated siding with Nika on anything, but after seeing Yevgeny's stained mouth, the sand in his hair, and the Lucky Charms marshmallow stuck to his chin, he knew he couldn't take his son's side on that one. "Sorry, bud, you stink. You need a bath."

Yevgeny looked completely offended by his dad's betrayal, and he stood up from the floor to stomp out of the room to take his dreaded bath.

Mickey grabbed the remote to put on something a little more adult-friendly, silently hoping Nika would take the hint and leave. After a few moments of awkward silence, and realizing she wasn't going anywhere, he decided to play nice. "Where's Svet?"

"Ran to liquor store," Nika said, her tone flat. "Where is loverboy?"

As if on cue, Ian came bounding down the stairs, looking clean and slightly damp from his shower. He wore a tank top that showed off his toned, sunburned arms. Mickey pretended not to notice. "Hey," he said as he walked to the couch and plopped down beside Mickey. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Ian was acting as if nothing had happened, and, for the most part, Mickey was relieved by that. He didn't need Nika sensing any kind of shift in their relationship, er… scheme.

"Going to finally take Yev fishin' like we've been saying we're gonna do," Mickey answered as he focused his eyes on the TV.

"Sounds fun, I'm in."

Mickey stiffened a little when Ian casually placed his arm on the back of the couch behind him.

Ian was so close and smelled so good, and Mickey fucking hated every minute of it.

When Ian casually gripped his shoulder and slowly caressed his thumb against Mickey's bare skin that his tank top didn't cover, Mickey tugged his bottom lip into his mouth and tried desperately to appear unaffected.

"You look good in that shirt," Ian rasped. He then leaned in and brushed his mouth against Mickey's ear to mutter, "Want her to leave?"

Mickey closed his eyes and nodded curtly. He licked his dry lips and tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

"Let's give her a show, then," Ian murmured. "Turn things up a bit?"

Without waiting for Mickey's reply or reaction, Ian gently began pressing soft kisses along his neck. He nosed playfully at the shell of Mickey's ear before kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear.

"Fuck," Mickey breathed. He knew Ian was only playing the part, turning things up a notch under Nika's watchful eye, but fuck, he was good at that. He shivered a little and mentally blamed it on the air conditioner.

"Mm, you smell good," Ian whispered against his skin. "Always smell good."

Mickey licked his bottom lip and instinctively angled his head, giving Ian more room.

Ian nipped playfully at his pulse point before smoothing his tongue over the spot. "You taste good too…"

Without thinking about it, Mickey reached over and placed his hand on Ian's leg. As Ian continued nipping at his neck, he squeezed Ian's knee. He wanted to move his hand higher, wanted to feel a little more, but he knew that would be overstepping. Nika didn't need that kind of a show.

Ian reached down and placed his hand over Mickey's, slotted their fingers together, and moved his hand up higher, stopping midway up his thigh.

Mickey squeezed and cursed under his breath. Without thinking, he uttered, "Feels good."

"Like makin' you feel good," Ian mumbled, kissing his way up Mickey's neck and nibbling his earlobe.

"Jesus, get a room," Nika snarled before finally standing up and leaving the room.

Mickey felt Ian press another soft kiss on his neck before freezing. He let out a shaky breath when Ian finally pulled away. For a second there, it almost seemed as if Ian didn't want to stop.

Ian stood up.

Mickey quickly followed suit. "That was, uh, a little fuckin' unexpected."

"Yeah."

Mickey's eyebrows knitted together. "I thought we were supposed to discuss shit like that before doing it?"

"Just went for it." Ian shrugged, focusing his attention on the floor as he scratched a hand through his damp hair, the curls already forming. "I'm playing my part. That's what I'm here for, right?"

"Ey," Mickey said, reaching out to grab Ian's wrist as he moved to walk past him.

Ian halted, sighed unsteadily, then took the step backward so that he was standing in front of Mickey.

Mickey's eyes searched Ian's face, trying to read his expression but unable to. "We okay?" he asked, his voice thick. He wasn't used to actually caring if an awkward situation was squashed or not. He definitely wasn't used to caring if his boss was mad at him or not.

Ian finally lifted his eyes and shrugged nonchalantly. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and said, "Yeah, just doing what I came here to do."

"You're starting to sound like a broken fuckin' record."

Ian smiled the faintest of smiles.

Mickey stared back before realizing he was still holding Ian's wrist. He released it. When Ian brushed past him, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head felt like it was spinning. His neck felt like it was on fire.

* * *

A little while later, Mickey, Ian, and Yevgeny made their way down to the end of the dock to do some fishing.

As Mickey sat at the edge of the dock with his son, helping Yevgeny with lining his fishing pole, and only getting a little aggravated about it, he didn't notice the way Ian was watching the entire exchange between father and son with a small, charmed smile on his face.

After another minute of Mickey cursing and getting frustrated that the damned thing wouldn't line right, Yevgeny sighed, taking the fishing pole from his hands with a roll of his eyes. "Dad, it's good, just gimme it."

"Oh, alright, tough guy," Mickey grumbled, surrendering the fishing pole. "Have fun tryna fish with a half-assed pole."

"I will," Yev retorted stubbornly. He couldn't really blame the kid for having such a smart mouth, considering who his parents were.

"Here, you need some bait," Ian jumped in, crouching down beside Yevgeny to bait the worm they had picked up from a local bait shop on the end of Yevgeny's hook. "There you go, you're all set, bud."

"Thanks, Ian," Yevgeny exclaimed with a bright smile.

"Oh, so he gets a fuckin' smile and a thank you, but I get a smart mouth?" Mickey groused. "That how it is, huh?"

Yevgeny scrunched up his nose at his dad before turning to face the water to dip his hook in.

Mickey looked over at Ian, who was currently in the middle of lining his own fishing pole. He chewed on his lower lip to hide his smile. Ian, wanting to make sure he didn't get burned any more than he already was, had taken it upon himself to coat his nose with sunblock. He had also decided to keep his shirt on for the day, to his slight disappointment.

Ian sat down in the lawn chair that was set up next to Mickey's, and he shot him a cool smile when he realized he was being looked at. "What? Do I have something on my face?" he joked, pointing in the general area of his nose.

"You look like an idiot with that shit on your nose, that's what."

Ian smirked at him as he slyly pulled his sunglasses from the top of his head down to sit on the bridge of his nose.

Mickey watched as Ian looked away to cast his fishing line, a smirk tugging at his own lips.

As the three of them settled into contented silence, Mickey thought to himself that it wasn't so bad, being out there with Yevgeny and Ian, with the warm sun shining down on them, the smell of steaks cooking on the grill wafting down from the cabin, and the large, beautiful lake sparkling before them.

The weekend was turning out to be pretty fucking decent.

* * *

"I like you."

Ian looked up, shielding his eyes from the unrelenting sun, to find Svetlana standing next to his lawn chair. "What?"

He would be lying if he said Svetlana didn't intimidate the shit out of him, but (for the most part) he liked her. It had taken him a day or two to get her dry, sarcastic sense of humor, but in the end, he didn't think she was nearly as bad as Mickey always made it seem. Nika, on the other hand, was cold and callous, and he could definitely see why Mickey didn't like her.

"You are nice, for an orange boy."

"Uh, thanks?" Ian said with a small, confused smile.

"You make him happy, you know," Svetlana supplied. "I see it."

"Huh?"

"Mickey," Svetlana clarified as she sat down in the empty lawn chair next to him. "He smiles a lot when you are around. Don't tell him I tell you this, but it is nice to see. He deserves to be happy and not have stick so far up his ass."

Ian smiled a little, but then the smile faded a little when he remembered it was all an act on Mickey's part. Any happiness Svetlana saw coming from Mickey was fake.

"You are first boyfriend he has had since Aleksandr," Svetlana continued, fanning herself against the heat.

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked as nonchalantly as possible. Mickey had mentioned his ex-boyfriend briefly during their get-together at Ian's place, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to know more about the guy; the guy that had somehow wooed Mickey into an actual relationship.

Svetlana shrugged a bare shoulder as she kept her eyes on Yevgeny, who was playing in the sand down by the water's edge. "Has he told you about Aleks?"

"Course," Ian blurted. "He, uh, he never mentioned how it ended, though." He knew it was probably a little fucked-up that he was trying to get information out of Svetlana behind Mickey's back, but he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

"Mm," Svetlana hummed. She paused to take a sip of her drink before continuing. "They met at some family gathering Nika's family had a few years ago. Of course, Mikhailo can never keep dick in pants, so they fooled around for a while. Things got pretty serious, pretty quickly. Nika didn't like it too much, but she came around eventually."

Ian averted his eyes to where Mickey was standing at the grill. He took in the way Mickey's tank top stretched over his back, his biceps flexing as he cooked. His eyes then averted to Mickey's ass. He made the simple khaki shorts he was wearing look really fucking good.

"They broke up once things got too serious," Svetlana explained. "Aleks wanted more from Mikhailo, he wanted everything, house, kids, white picket fence. Mickey, of course, freaked out like idiot he is and broke things off." Svetlana then paused to look at Ian, her eyebrow arching over the rim of her sunglasses. "I am surprised about you."

"Yeah?" Ian asked distractedly as he kept his eyes trained on Mickey. Fuck, even the way he wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm was hot as hell.

"I am surprised he is willing to live with you, surprised he is willing to let you in," Svetlana continued. "He must really be serious."

Ian swallowed thickly and looked down at the beer bottle in his hand.

He wasn't stupid. He knew going along with the whole fake-dating thing had been a bad idea from the get-go. Pretending to be his employee's boyfriend for almost a week was among his top three worst ideas of all time, especially considering he had a massive crush on the guy, but, somewhere along the way during the past two days, he'd begun to hope that maybe Mickey was kind of digging him too. Sometimes he caught Mickey looking at him, sometimes it seemed like Mickey was actually starting to like being around him.

Hearing Svetlana drone on and on about how Mickey didn't usually do serious relationships, and how he had dumped a pretty steady boyfriend just because the guy wanted more, had him seriously doubting his chances more than ever.

"Do you want to be serious with him?" Svetlana asked, her accent thick.

Ian cleared his throat and continued picking at the label on his bottle. He was surprised at how easily the answer came to him. He had never really been big on serious relationships either, but he thought maybe with Mickey he'd make an exception.

"Yeah, I think I do," he admitted without hesitation. His heart sank when he realized how fucked he was. None of it was fake to him, not even a little bit.

"Maybe tell him that," Svetlana said. "Before things go any further. You don't want to end up like Aleksandr. Make sure you are on same page this time, yes?"

"Yeah," Ian muttered, bringing his beer back to his lips and looking back at Mickey, who was kneeling down in front of Yevgeny to tie his shoe. He couldn't stop the smile from pulling at his lips when Mickey pressed a big, smacking kiss on Yevgeny's cheek before standing up. The smile faded a little, and he downed the rest of his beer.

Yeah, he was fucked.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey walked out of the cabin with the beer he had retrieved from the kitchen. He glanced around the large yard, taking in the sight of Svetlana and Nika curled up together on a lawn chair as they sipped daiquiris and watched the fireworks shooting off across the lake. They were whispering into each other's ears, and Svetlana's hand was a little too high on Nika's leg, and he wanted to call out for them to get a fucking room, but he refrained. As much as he disliked Nika, deep down he was glad Svetlana had someone who loved her so much. He would never in a million years admit that to her, though.

His eyes averted down towards the shore of the lake, and he froze with his beer can near his mouth at the sight in front of him. Ian was crouched down in front of Yevgeny, a sparkler in his hand. Yevgeny was beaming up at Ian as he hung onto every word Ian was saying. A part of him was slightly jealous that the kid had taken to Ian so much, but another, bigger part of him was kind of in awe about it all.

He continued to watch as Ian went from a crouched position to sitting down in the sand next to Yev, lighting the sparkler for him. Even in the twilight, only the fireworks illuminating the scene, he could see Yevgeny's eyes widen, and he looked so fucking happy at that moment. They both did.

His heart sank at the sight.

He had started the whole fake relationship thing because of how much he loved his kid. He had never actually stopped to think about how all of it would affect Yevgeny in the end. He had never expected Yev to actually like Ian so much and vice versa.

He knew Yevgeny was going to be crushed when it was all over, when Ian would inevitably leave his life, and he hated that thought.

* * *

Later that night, after the burgers and hot dogs were scarfed down and the fireworks had ended, Mickey stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom and watched as an unaware Ian continued scrolling on his phone. He scrubbed a hand down his face and glanced away before finally deciding to go for it. "Hey."

"Hey," Ian answered distractedly, not looking up from his phone. "I'll be down in a sec. I'm checkin' some of my emails. Trying to stay a little on top of things so I'm not completely fucked on Tuesday."

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey said as he stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Do what you gotta do, man."

Ian sighed. "I have so much shit to get back to on Tuesday, it's not even funny. Probably shouldn't have taken the whole weekend off. We're probably gonna have to work a lot of late nights when we get back."

"Sounds like it," Mickey said as he rubbed his bottom lip.

"I think we—"

"Thanks…" Mickey interrupted him after finally gathering up the nerve. "For earlier."

Ian finally looked up from his phone, a small smile on his lips. "For what?"

"For how you were with Yevgeny," Mickey answered. "You know, with the fishin' shit and everything, and the sparklers. You're good with him. The kid likes you."

Ian nodded a little and looked back down at his phone, the smile no longer on his face. "You don't have to thank me for that. He's a good kid." he paused, his teeth working on his bottom lip. He visibly swallowed before speaking again. "He, um, he reminds me of someone I used to know."

Mickey immediately caught the melancholy in Ian's tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for Ian to say something else.

Ian stared down at his phone for a few seconds longer before tossing it to the side. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly contemplating his next words before saying, "I lied to you before."

"Yeah?" Mickey asked, his heart oddly thumping in his throat, "What about?"

Ian sighed and leaned back against the headboard, focusing his eyes up at the ceiling. He swallowed hard a couple of times, his adam's apple bobbing. "I lied about my family."

Mickey didn't say anything; he just continued standing by the door, waiting for Ian to elaborate.

Ian ran a hand through his hair and kept it there. He hung his head and finally spoke, his tone uneven. "I'm not an only child. I'm not from the North Side, not originally. I, uh, I actually grew up on the South Side, barely living above the poverty line. Family of eight. There was me, five siblings, and two piece-of-shit parents who didn't give a damn about any us. Frank, he… he drank a lot. He hated me. He hit me sometimes."

Mickey listened, swallowing the lump in his throat when Ian's voice wavered. He knew what he was about to say couldn't be good.

"I found out when I was younger, around fifteen or so, that Frank, the father I had always known, wasn't my real dad," Ian continued, his head still hanging. "My real dad was pretty well-off, rich, white picket fence… North Side. When I confronted him one day, told him he was my dad, he asked me to move in with him. He wanted to get to know me, wanted to make up for lost time. I knew if I went to live with him, my life wouldn't be shit. I wouldn't have to put up with Frank anymore. So, even though my brothers and sisters didn't want me to, they begged me not to, I… I went to live with him. I—" He paused and swallowed hard. "I left them. I still saw them all the time, but… I left them."

Mickey slowly uncrossed his arms as he watched Ian unravel in front of him.

Ian continued, his voice filled with emotion. "About seven years ago, they, uh…" He paused, fighting back tears and trying to steady his voice. "They all passed away in a house fire. All of them. Happened in the middle of the night."

"Jesus," Mickey murmured.

"Turns out Frank had been running a meth lab in the basement."

"Fuck," Mickey whispered again, his own eyes brimming with tears as he watched Ian begin to break.

Ian finally lifted his head, the light from the moon pouring in through the window illuminating the tears that were sliding down his face. "They all died that night. All five of my… of my brothers and sisters. I wasn't… I wasn't there. I should've been there… with them, but I left."

"Ian—"

"I should have died with them," Ian choked.

Without thinking much about it, Mickey pushed away from the doorframe and walked to the bed. He sat down facing Ian. He opened his mouth to speak but had trouble finding the right words. Calming people down definitely wasn't something he was used to, but he found himself wanting to calm him down.

"Fuck, Ian, there's… that wasn't your fault. You get that, right?" he assured, dipping his head to try to meet Ian's eyes. "It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you coulda done."

Ian scrubbed a hand down his wet face and looked away. "I could've been there. I should have died in that fire with them. I shouldn't have been so selfish. I was so fuckin' selfish."

"Hey, you weren't selfish. You were just a kid," Mickey said, his voice raspy around the edges. He reached up hesitantly, gripped Ian's chin between his thumb and index finger, and turned his face so they were eye to eye. "There's nothing you coulda done. You shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to get to live a better life, about wanting to get the fuck outta that shithole. It's not your fault," he said. "You hear me?"

"I left them," Ian choked out. "That's why I keep to myself. I just fuck everyone's lives up. I don't… I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to have anyone."

"Ian," Mickey interrupted, his eyes dropping to his mouth. "Stop."

Ian sniffed and closed his eyes.

Mickey leaned forward and tapped his forehead to Ian's. He heard his breath hitch. After that, his body seemed to move on its own accord. He leaned in the last couple of inches and touched his mouth gently to Ian's.

Ian froze against the soft kiss before melting into it in the next instant.

Mickey moved his hand from Ian's cheek to wrap his fingers around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

Ian opened his mouth to Mickey and moaned into the kiss when their tongues touched. His nose pressed adorably into Mickey's cheek, and he chuckled breathlessly, nervously, into the kiss.

"Mm," Mickey moaned into Ian's mouth as Ian's hand gripped the back of his head, keeping him close and deepening the kiss.

Ian leaned back, urging Mickey to move with him.

"Fuck," Mickey groaned, pulling back quickly and standing up from the bed. He knew they had just stepped into dangerous fucking territory, and he had to stop it before it went any further… no matter how badly he wanted to take it further.

Ian stared up at him with wide, questioning eyes, his lips pink and swollen. Mickey had to force himself to not dive back in for another kiss.

"We can't fuckin' do this."

"Right, yeah," Ian agreed after a pause, "I know."

Mickey scrubbed a hand over his face and turned away. He shuffled a little, knowing he should leave the room, but also fighting the overwhelming urge to devour Ian. He turned back towards the bed, his urges finally getting the best of him. "Fuck…"

Luckily for Mickey, Yevgeny picked that exact moment to come barging in. "Hey, dad, can we watch a movie before bed? Mom said to ask you?"

"Yev!" Mickey bellowed, his nerves still on edge. "The hell are you doing? You can't just barge in here! You need to knock first!"

Yevgeny stared back at his dad, the excited smile no longer on his face. Before his face could crumple, he stepped back out of the room, closing the door as he went.

"Fuck…" Mickey swiped a hand over his mouth and chanced a look in Ian's direction to find him watching him. "What? Don't do that." When Ian quirked an eyebrow, he added, "Don't fuckin' look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"All judgy and shit."

"You didn't have to yell at him like that."

"Well, he didn't need to come walking in like that without knocking," Mickey snapped. "What if he woulda walked in a minute earlier, huh?"

"We were only kissing, Mickey," Ian pointed out. "That's it. It's not a big deal. You see how Svetlana and Nika are together. He should be used to people suckin' face in front of him."

"It is a big deal," Mickey snapped, not in a joking mood, and getting the sudden urge to leave the room. He needed to get away from Ian for a while, needed to get away to sort out his thoughts. Things were spinning too far out of his control. "And don't tell me how to deal with my own fuckin' kid, got it? He's my kid."

As Mickey headed for the door, Ian called out. "Where're you going? Are we not gonna talk about what happened?"

"Nothing fuckin' happened," Mickey snapped. "I'm goin' for a walk, that alright with you?" He pretended not to notice the despondent look on Ian's face right before he closed the door.

* * *

After walking along the lakeshore for a little over an hour, calming his nerves and telling himself that what had happened between him and Ian had meant nothing, Mickey returned to the cabin to find Svetlana and Nika lounging on the porch swing, lemonades in their hands.

"Ey," Mickey said as he walked up the porch steps. "Where's Yev? I need to talk to him." No matter how guilty he felt about the way he'd left things with Ian, the guilt he felt over how he had treated Yev was getting to him worse.

"Fell asleep on couch," Nika answered dryly, giving him an accusatory glare over the rim of her glass.

"He's mad at you, you know," Svetlana supplied. Of course, she would take the opportunity to rub it in his face.

Mickey sighed and rubbed at his eye. The last thing he needed was a lecture from Svetlana and Nika concerning his parenting skills. "I'll talk to him in the morning." He headed for the door and paused before going in. "You, uh, you see Ian lately?"

"He has not left room since you left," Nika answered, her expression smug. "Trouble in paradise, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' worry about it," Mickey snapped, wanting to wipe the look off her face.

Mickey entered the cabin and walked to the couch to find Yev asleep, looking peaceful and innocent in his curled up position. He sighed and knelt down to press a soft kiss to the side of Yev's head. He then draped a fleece blanket over his son before finally making his way up to his and Ian's room.

Ian looked up when he entered the room. He was relaxing back against the headboard, his chest bare and his eyes questioning. "Hey," he said first after a beat.

"Hey," Mickey mumbled, thumbing at the corner his mouth. He hesitated before stepping fully into the room. He shut the door behind himself, all the while avoiding Ian's eyes.

"Where'd you go?" Ian asked. When Mickey didn't immediately answer, he continued, "You've been gone over an hour. Thought you left."

"Took a walk around the lake," Mickey finally said, toeing out of his shoes. "Needed to clear my head."

Ian was silent for a bit before asking, "Did it work?"

Mickey finally looked at Ian. "Honestly? Not fuckin' really."

Ian sighed and placed his phone on the bedside table. "Talk to me, Mickey."

"Told you," Mickey snapped. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Of course you don't," Ian muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

"The fuck you just say?"

Ian looked at him indignantly, his jaw taut. "I said _of course you don't_ ," he answered, his tone flat. "So we won't talk about it. We'll just sweep the fact that we kissed earlier under the rug. It's your call. Apparently, everything we do is on your terms."

"Of course it's on my fuckin' terms," Mickey snapped. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't—"

"If I hadn't gotten us into it, yes, I fuckin' know, Mickey," Ian interrupted. He flung the sheet off himself and stood up. He walked towards Mickey and stopped a few inches from him, using his extra height to his advantage. "How many times are you gonna throw that shit in my face, huh? How many times are you gonna kiss me and make me feel like shit afterward?"

"Fuck you," Mickey retorted.

"No, fuck you, Mickey," Ian snapped. "You don't wanna talk about shit, fine. You wanna keep pretending you didn't wanna kiss me back both times, go ahead. You're good at fucking pretending."

Mickey watched as Ian turned to head back to the bed. "Fuck you, you're one to talk, asshole."

Ian turned around to glare at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the most confusing fuckin' person I've ever met in my entire life," Mickey bellowed. "You treat me like shit at work, then you get us into this mess for reasons I still don't even know, then you're throwing yourself at me every fuckin' chance you get—"

Ian's face lit up in fake amusement. "Oh, I'm throwing myself at you? You're fuckin' kidding me, right? The first time we kissed, you practically dared me to do it, and in case you've forgotten, asshole, you kissed me earlier."

"Only because I felt sorry for your ass after you decided to hit me with your fuckin' sob story," Mickey spat before he could fully think it through.

"My… my sob story?" Ian asked after a heavy pause, spitting the words out. "Me telling you about my dead siblings who died in a fire was a sob story to you?"

"Fuck, I didn't mean it like that," Mickey stammered, rubbing a hand down his face. "Hey, look, I shouldn't have said—"

"It doesn't matter," Ian spat. "You've already made it clear plenty of times that you don't give a shit about what I think or how I feel, so why would you care about my dead siblings?"

Mickey watched as Ian crawled back into the bed, his back facing him. He stood in the middle of the room awkwardly for a couple of minutes, not knowing what to say or do to rectify the situation.

Instead of saying anything, he reached behind his head and tugged his shirt off. He then stripped down to his boxers and sat down on the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face before looking over his shoulder in Ian's direction. "You want me to sleep on the floor?"

"Do whatever you want," Ian muttered. "I don't care anymore."

Mickey sighed and, after some hesitation, he lied back and pulled the covers over himself.

Ian reached over and turned the bedside lamp off, shrouding the room in darkness

Mickey stared up at the ceiling, his breath coming out in huffs, and his heart hammering in his chest. He listened to Ian's unsteady breathing for a few minutes before finally reaching his hand out under the blankets. The tips of his fingers came into contact with the warm, soft skin of Ian's lower back. He slowly dragged his fingers against Ian's skin. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he felt like he had to do something.

"What're you doing?" Ian asked, his voice sounding muffled against his pillow.

Mickey wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he turned onto his side. He stared over at Ian in the darkness, just barely making him out in the faint moonlight pouring in through the curtains. After a handful of seconds, the bed shifted as Ian turned to face him. He swallowed thickly a few times before making his next move. His heart raced as he reached out and lightly touched Ian's cheek with his fingertips.

"Sorry," he finally said, his tone soft. He found that it was easier to talk in the dark. "I didn't fuckin' mean it."

"No?" Ian asked, his voice thick.

"No," Mickey muttered. "I didn't."

His breath hitched when Ian shifted closer. His eyes fluttered closed when Ian's lips pressed softly against his. His fingers were still lightly feathering against Ian's cheek as they kissed slowly, hesitantly, in the dark.

"Want me to stop?" Ian whispered against Mickey's mouth.

Mickey only shook his head. He pressed his mouth more firmly against Ian's and dragged the tips of his fingers over the line of Ian's jaw before wrapping his hand around the back of Ian's neck to make sure he didn't go anywhere.

Ian's hand found Mickey's hip under the blankets, then he was pulling him closer, bringing their bodies flush together.

Mickey moaned into the kiss as Ian's body molded against his. He hooked his leg over Ian's hip, wanting to get even closer.

Ian bravely ran his hand over Mickey's bare thigh and grabbed his ass. He laughed through the languid kiss when Mickey gasped. "Too far?" he asked, pulling away from the kiss only slightly.

"No," Mickey rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Nah, it's good. Grab it all the fuck you want."

Ian laughed as he continued kneading Mickey's ass cheek in his large hand. "Oh, now I can grab it? Two days ago you didn't want me anywhere near it."

"You wanna talk some more, or do you wanna shut the fuck up and kiss me?"

Ian was no longer in a joking mood as he leaned back in for another kiss. "You sure about this?" he asked between pecks.

"Might as well commit to the fuckin' roles, right?" Mickey answered breathlessly. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to Ian's. They were both panting for air, their breath mingling in the couple inches that separated their mouths. "Only for the weekend, though. None of this shit follows us back home. You're my … fuck," he swore when Ian brushed his fingertips over his ass crack through his boxers, "My… my boss."

Ian nodded against his forehead. "'Kay." He grabbed Mickey's ass, pulled him tighter against him, and moaned when Mickey gasped as they rutted against each other.

"This is all your fault, asshole," Mickey accused, breathless. "Walkin' around lookin' like you do, teasin' me with your fuckin' fake touches and shit."

"Oh, my fault?" Ian shot back, his face hidden in the crook of Mickey's neck. "You know how hard it is, being around you with those eyes, those lips, and that fuckin' ass every day?"

"Fuck," Mickey rasped, his cock hard against Ian's thigh as they continued dry humping. He smoothed his hand over the muscles of Ian's back, the muscles that had been teasing him all fucking weekend.

"This is a bad idea," Ian murmured, not sounding convincing in the least as he continued rolling his hips, his cock rubbing against Mickey's upper thigh. "Things are going to be really awkward at work."

"Things have always been awkward at work, man," Mickey muttered back as he nosed at Ian's hair. "Now, we'll just wanna fuck each other instead of fight each other."

Ian laughed breathlessly. "Fuck, Mickey."

"Want you," Mickey muttered, barely loud enough for Ian to hear. He then moaned deep in his throat when Ian's hand struggled slightly against the waistband of his boxers. Ian gripped his bare ass, kneading Mickey's cheeks apart, urging him to grind harder.

Something in Mickey sort of snapped then, and with a little effort, and thanks to the action stupefying Ian momentarily, he maneuvered them so that Ian was flat on his back and he was straddling him. He grabbed Ian's wrists and pinned his boss's hands down to the mattress as he continued rolling his hips.

Ian stared up at him, just barely making eye contact through the darkness. He arched his back and groaned, and Mickey knew they were both close to creaming their shorts.

Mickey wanted more, so much more, wanted to feel and taste every part of Ian, have Ian feel and taste every part of him. He wanted to take full advantage of the rest of their weekend, but dry humping each other like a bunch of fucking teenagers was good enough for him at the moment.

"Mickey," Ian moaned, looking as if he was completely falling apart beneath him.

Mickey and Ian's cocks rubbed together through the fabric of their boxers with every roll of Mickey's hips. Mickey panted for air as his orgasm crept up. "Fuck, gonna come soon," he gasped.

The moment was ruined by a knock on the door, and Mickey instantly stopped his humping. "What the fuck," he breathed out before yelling, "What!" He reluctantly climbed off him and pulled the sheet over them.

Ian remained exactly where he was, sweaty and panting and staring up at the ceiling.

The door opened a few inches, and Yevgeny's tousled head poked in. "Are you still mad at me, daddy?"

Mickey would have been fucking furious at anyone else for interrupting them, but not Yevgeny. His heart broke a little at how small Yev's voice sounded. He suddenly hated himself for lashing out at the kid earlier. "'Course not, get in here." He leaned over and turned the bedside lamp on.

Ian sat up next to him, looking a little flushed and dazed but otherwise normal.

Yevgeny walked further into the room, the fingers of his right hand twisting into the fabric at the bottom of his shirt. "I can't sleep," he mumbled. "I wanna watch a movie."

Mickey glanced at the clock to see that it was almost midnight. He knew it was way past the kid's bedtime, and that he would probably get shit from Svetlana and Nika if he kept Yevgeny up too late. He was already on their parenting shitlist. "Where's your mom?"

"Her and Nika went to bed," Yev answered, rubbing tiredly at his eye. "They're making funny noises."

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, secretly wishing that he and Ian were the ones making funny noises at the moment. He knew he couldn't turn away his kid, though, not after the way he had treated him earlier. "You wanna watch a movie, huh?"

Yev nodded. The kid looked exhausted and like he could fall asleep at any moment, but Mickey wasn't about to deny him anything.

Mickey looked over at him and arched a brow. "What d'you say? Wanna watch a movie?"

Ian smiled softly. Mickey saw something in his eyes, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. "Yeah, I'd love to watch a movie."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Mickey, Ian, and Yev were downstairs watching Cars. Well, Mickey and Ian were watching Cars; Yev had fallen asleep quickly after settling between them on the couch, just as Mickey knew he would.

With a sleeping Yev pressed against his side, Mickey looked over at Ian who was actually paying attention to the movie like he was a fucking kid himself. He took the moment to study Ian's profile, still trying to wrap his head around everything. In a few short days, Ian had gone from being his pretentious, pain-in-the-ass, prick of a boss, to being more than that, to being anything but that.

Ian must have sensed he was being stared at, and he pried his eyes away from the movie to lock eyes with Mickey. A small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"Nothing," Mickey said, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "Just thinking about how fuckin' crazy all this is. Never, uh, never expected any of it." He thumbed at his nose, glancing away from Ian when the weight of his words hit him before looking back.

Ian rested his head back against the couch, his eyes still on Mickey.

Mickey swallowed thickly and stared back for a few moments before standing up from the couch. He carefully pulled Yev into his arms and carried the sleeping kid over to the loveseat across the room. He reclaimed his spot next to Ian on the couch, closer that time. His eyes darted between Ian's, then down to his mouth, then back up. Ian was waiting for him to say or do something. He wanted to kiss him, really wanted to fucking kiss him, but he knew they had to have at least some sort of conversation first.

"What?" Ian asked, breaking the silence first. "What's wrong?"

"Fuck," Mickey breathed, pulling a hand through his hair. "Just, I don't fuckin' know, tryna figure out what the fuck we're doing here." He could see Ian swallow hard, could see that he was struggling with what to say. Before Ian could say anything though, he spoke. "I just… can't process any of it. Three days ago, we couldn't stand each other. Now we're making out and dry humping each other in my ex-wife's cabin." When Ian still didn't say anything, his brows shot up. "You know this is a stupid idea that doesn't make any sense, right? You get that, don't you?"

"What do you want me to say here, Mickey?" Ian finally asked. He then dropped his voice when Yev began to stir. "I don't understand it any more than you do. It all just… happened."

"So, what're we gonna do here?" Mickey asked, his eyes darting slowly between Ian's. "We need to be smart about this. We can't think with our dicks here. We work together. Nothing fuckin' good can come from this."

Ian swallowed hard again, then he asked, "Do you wanna stop?"

Mickey's eyes dropped to Ian's mouth. He knew he should agree to stop. He knew it was the smart thing to do. Just because Ian wasn't as shitty as he'd originally thought, was that really worth risking his job? Was that worth making things awkward at work? Was it worth the inevitable fallout?

"No, I don't wanna stop," Mickey finally settled on.

Ian rested his head back against the couch, apparently having nothing to say to that; he was apparently waiting for Mickey to make the next move.

Mickey took the bait, and he only hesitated for a second before leaning over and pressing his mouth to Ian's. With Ian's desperate help, he moved to straddle Ian's lap. He pressed his forehead against Ian's as their rutting from earlier resumed. "Only for the rest of the weekend, right? We're agreed on that? We won't let shit get weird, won't let things go too far?"

"Agreed," Ian breathed as his hands rounded over Mickey's ass. They both froze when they heard Yevgeny stirring.

Mickey glanced back over his shoulder to see that Yev had turned over on the loveseat, his back now facing them. Even though he knew Yev was sound asleep, he knew that humping his boss in the same room with him wasn't a smart idea. "Fuck, we can't do this in front of the kid, man."

"Right," Ian muttered against his lips. "Wanna go back upstairs?"

"Fuck yeah, I wanna go upstairs," Mickey breathed.

After making sure Yev was safe and tucked in, Mickey and Ian made their way upstairs. Ian couldn't keep his hands off Mickey's ass as they ascended the stairs. He half-expected Mickey to reprimand him for the ass-grabbing, but the scolding never came.

Once they reached their room, Mickey entered and immediately turned to face Ian, who shut the door and leaned back against it. They locked eyes for a beat before they both chuckled nervously.

Ian pushed away from the door and took the two steps that separated them. He grabbed Mickey by the hips and pulled their bodies flush together. "Sure you wanna do this?"

"Not really," Mickey said, his eyes dropping to Ian's lips, "But I'm gonna do it, anyway."

Ian smiled and hesitated only a second before leaning in, pressing his mouth firmly against Mickey's.

Mickey opened his mouth to Ian and allowed him to push him back towards the bed. The day had been long, and both Mickey and Ian were exhausted. They made out for a while like horny teenagers, kissing and touching, not taking it too far. Everything was fragile and new, so neither of them were willing to take it too far, at least not yet.

As they kissed, and laughed, and threw caution to the wind, figuring they could figure shit out in the morning, neither one of them were aware that, just two doors down the hall, Nika was starting to set her own scheme in motion.


	4. Chapter 4

DAY FOUR

Mickey groaned and dug his face deeper into his pillow. He'd forgotten to close the curtains the night before and harsh sunlight was pouring in through the slats of the blinds, shining directly in his face.

"Fuck," he groused. He squinted one eye and glanced over at the bedside clock to see that it was barely seven a.m. He thought about getting out of bed to close the blinds but ultimately decided against it, figuring he'd fall back to sleep soon enough. He was too comfortable, too warm to get up. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up over his head a little to block the light.

Just as he was about to drift back to sleep, a warm, strong arm slid around his waist to pull him closer, and his eyes flew open, suddenly wide awake, the events from the night before flooding to the forefront of his sleepy, hazy mind.

"Fuck," he said again, softer that time, as he looked down at the toned, freckled arm holding him.

"Are you always this grumpy in the morning," Ian rasped, his lips pressed against Mickey's bare shoulder, his breath warm on Mickey's skin. "Not gonna lie, it's kinda fuckin' adorable."

"You always this bold in the morning?" Mickey snapped to cover up for his thundering heart.

Ian sighed, slowly pulled his arm away, and rolled over onto his back.

Mickey was surprised and quite fucking irritated with himself when he immediately missed Ian's touch.

"Sorry, took it too far, didn't I?" Ian muttered. "You're not the spooning type, got it."

"Nah, man," Mickey blurted, turning onto his back and shooting Ian a quick look before looking up at the ceiling. He'd be damned if he was going to tell Ian that he actually wouldn't mind if they took it a bit further, or that he actually very fucking much was the spooning type. "Just tryna get used to the fact that I'm gettin' spooned by my boss. It's fuckin' weird, man."

Ian looked over at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "We did a lot more than spoon last night."

"Yeah." Leave it to Ian to make shit even more awkward.

"It was, uh… different."

"Yeah," Mickey said again, glancing away, suddenly feeling bashful in Ian's presence. What the fuck. Since when did Ian make him nervous in a giddy, fucking embarrassing way?

"We've never done anything like that before."

"No," Mickey agreed, eyebrows high. "We haven't."

"Do you regret it?" Ian asked after a heavy pause, the apprehension evident in his tone as if he expected the other shoe to drop at any second.

Did Mickey regret it? That was a loaded question if he'd ever heard one. Did he regret kissing Ian? Did he regret making out with Ian like a fucking teenager for nearly a half an hour straight the night before? He knew he should regret it, for about a hundred reasons, but he didn't. Kissing Ian was fucking unreal, and he wanted to keep doing it. As fucked-up as it was, and as much as none of it made any sense, he wanted to keep kissing his fucking boss, of all people. Fuck.

Without thinking about the possible consequences of his next action, he swung his leg over Ian's body and straddled him. They were both only wearing boxers, and Ian let out a long, unsteady breath when Mickey laced his fingers with Ian's and pinned his boss's hands to the mattress.

"No," Mickey uttered, staring down into Ian's surprised face. "I don't regret it." His eyes searched Ian's face before smiling gingerly. It still all seemed so surreal to him, but he wasn't about to back out now, not with Ian half-naked, hot, and willing beneath him.

"No?" Ian asked thickly.

"No."

"Good to know."

"We said it would only be for the rest of the weekend," Mickey reminded him, his eyes trained on Ian's lips. "That still true?"

Ian swallowed visibly and nodded. "Still true."

"Good." Mickey kept their hands pressed to the mattress as he slowly rutted against Ian, their clothed erections catching and rubbing deliciously through the thin fabric. "Fuck, man, you're so fuckin' hot," he murmured before he could stop himself.

"Am I?" Ian asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, man. Annoying as all fuck," Mickey murmured as he continued his torturous rutting, "but also hot as fuck."

"Shit, Mickey," Ian gasped, and his breath was immediately taken when Mickey leaned down to kiss him roughly, taking Ian's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging playfully before delving his tongue inside Ian's open, waiting mouth. He finally released Ian's hands in favor of cupping Ian's face as they kissed.

Ian smoothed his hands down Mickey's back and over his ass as their tongues continued tangling through the hot, sloppy kiss.

"Wait," Mickey gasped, pulling away from the desperate, hungry kiss. "What the hell are we doing?"

After having chased Mickey's mouth a few inches, Ian thumped his head back down against his pillow and groaned. "Are you kidding me right now? We're doing this again?"

"Seriously, what the fuck are we doing?" Mickey asked again as he crawled off him and got out of the bed. "We need to slow this shit down." Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he regretted them, but deep down, he knew they couldn't rush into anything. He had to think about his career in the long run and about his kid. He couldn't get wrapped up in playing house with someone for a weekend. He had to be an adult about it, had to stop thinking with his dick.

Ian reluctantly sat up and back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over his face. The front of his boxers was tented, but he made no move to cover himself.

Mickey stared back at him before dropping his eyes to Ian's obvious erection. "Fuck…"

Ian smirked before standing up. "Hey, look, it's okay, I get it. Save it for the audience, right? You call the shots." He didn't sound mad or upset, just resigned. "I'm gonna go brush my teeth."

"Yeah, alright," Mickey said as he hung his head to rub the back of his neck. As Ian walked past him, he couldn't help but stare at his impressive boner. He scrubbed a hand over his face and thought about his next move for only a few seconds before following Ian into the bathroom.

Ian was already at the sink, squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He caught Mickey's eyes in the reflection of the mirror and quirked his eyebrow a little as he brushed his teeth.

Mickey swallowed thickly and stepped up to the sink next to him. He prepared his own toothbrush and caught Ian's eyes in the reflection again. As both of their mouths became white with frothy foam, they both grinned at each other in the mirror, then they laughed.

Ian bent to spit in the sink. After rinsing his mouth out, he turned to Mickey and leaned his hip against the edge of the vanity. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, waiting.

Mickey stared back, continuing to brush his teeth, even though he slowed his movements. Once Ian quirked a challenging eyebrow, he spat in the sink before turning the faucet off. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, nodded slowly a few times, then immediately turned and stepped into Ian's personal space.

He wasn't sure who surged forward for the kiss first, but before Mickey knew what was happening, he was sitting atop the vanity, and Ian was standing between his legs, his damp fingers gripped in Mickey's hair, and his tongue devouring Mickey's minty mouth.

"Fuck, man," Mickey gasped when Ian pulled back from the kiss, playfully tugging Mickey's lower lip with his teeth before kissing his way down Mickey's cheek, along his jaw, and finally planting his lips on Mickey's neck.

"You smell good," Ian muttered against Mickey's neck. He was gently kissing and nibbling at Mickey's pulse point, and it was driving him wild. "I ever tell you that before?"

"Probably woulda punched you in the throat if you'd said that shit to me before."

Ian huffed a laugh against Mickey's neck.

Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian's hips and hooked his ankles, pulling Ian closer to him. He groaned when he felt Ian's erection against him. He felt big. He wanted to feel more. He gripped the edge of the vanity and desperately arched into his boss. "This is stupid," he murmured. "Making out with my boss like I'm a fucking thirteen-year-old."

"Want me to stop?" Ian asked, his words muffled against Mickey's neck. The words seemed to be Ian's new mantra.

"Fuck, no, I don't want you to stop," Mickey gasped, hating how desperate he sounded. "Don't fuckin' stop."

Ian pressed his lips to Mickey's ear and moaned a little when he pressed against him. "Tell me what you want, Mickey," he murmured. "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck, just… get me off," Mickey blurted. He was done denying it. He was done with the inhibitions. He was horny, his boss was hot and willing, there was a bed ten feet away. How bad can sex between two consenting adults really be, as long as they could remain adults about it? They could fuck each other's brains out and go back to work and pretend as if nothing happened. He could do it, he was sure of it. He'd had plenty of meaningless sex in his life. Whatever this was with Ian was no different. "Get me off."

Ian pulled back a few inches, far enough so he could hook his fingers under the waistband of Mickey's plaid boxers.

Mickey continued gripping the edge of the vanity for balance as he lifted his hips, allowing Ian to remove his boxers. He watched Ian's face, watched the heat in Ian's eyes, watched the way Ian licked his lips. He accepted the kiss Ian leaned in to press against his mouth. He opened his mouth to Ian and moaned when he felt Ian's long fingers wrap around his cock. "Yes. Fuck, yeah."

Ian pressed his forehead to Mickey's shoulder as he stroked his cock in long, slow strokes.

"Mm," Mickey moaned. Without thinking too much about it, he turned his head and nuzzled his nose in Ian's hair right above his ear. He moaned and panted and gasped next to Ian's ear, causing his boss to groan and stroke him faster. "Feels good, man."

Ian sucked in a shaky breath and turned his head to capture Mickey's mouth in a rough kiss. He kept his strokes short and fast, his large hand wrapped around Mickey's cock on the right side of too tight. "Wanna make you feel good," he panted into his mouth. "Been wanting… fuck."

Mickey barely registered Ian's words as he felt his orgasm creeping up. He kept one hand gripped on the vanity, and he wrapped his other hand around the nape of Ian's neck, keeping him close. "Fuck… Ian," he groaned in Ian's ear. It didn't long after that before he was spilling into Ian's hand.

Ian kissed him thoroughly through his orgasm before pulling away to press his forehead against Mickey's. He huffed a breathy, nervous laugh.

Mickey let go of the vanity altogether and cupped his hands around Ian's face. He kissed him lightly on the mouth, only thinking about his actions after the fact.

"Never done that before."

"You gonna keep pointing out everything we've never done before every time we do something we've never done before?" Mickey asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Probably," Ian breathed.

"So fuckin' lame," Mickey muttered before kissing him again. He then slipped off the vanity and opened his eyes to look into Ian's. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, neither one of them knowing quite what to say. Just as Ian was reaching up to brush his thumb across Mickey's cheek, there was a knock on their bedroom door.

"Shit," Mickey murmured. "They woulda knocked one minute earlier I woulda been pissed."

Ian grinned and stayed back in the bathroom to wash his hands as Mickey pulled his boxers back up and went to open the door.

Yev was waiting on the other side of the door, his handheld video game in hand. He was still in his pajamas, and he had dried milk around his mouth from the cereal he'd had for breakfast.

"You eat cereal without me, huh?" Mickey asked, grabbing Yev by the crown of the head and pulling his son against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of Yev's head and ruffled his hair. "What's up, bud?"

"Can I play my game in here, daddy?" Yev asked. "I wanna show Ian what I can do."

"You wanna show Ian, huh?"

Ian came out of the bathroom then wearing a robe. He looked no worse for wear as he grinned at Yevgeny. "Whatcha got there, buddy?"

Yev ran to the bed and hopped on, planting himself in the middle of the mattress. "Come here, I'll show you!"

Mickey rubbed at the corner of his lip as he watched Ian walk over to the bed. He looked on as Ian raptly watched what Yev was doing on his video game. Yev was quite proud of himself, looking up and grinning at Ian every so often, making sure he was watching. Ian grinned back every time, telling Yev what an awesome job he was doing. The interaction tugged at his heartstrings, and he really wished it didn't.

"Daddy, come here," Yev said, patting the empty spot on the bed on the other side of him. "Come look."

Mickey made his way to the bed and sat down. He watched Yev's demonstration for a bit before looking up to lock eyes with Ian over Yev's head. He returned Ian's easy smile and went back to watching his son's game.

He didn't know what the weird emotion he felt in his chest was in that moment, but he thought maybe it felt something like contentment.

* * *

A little while later, Svetlana called Yevgeny downstairs, much to the little boy's chagrin, but he went on his way, knowing better than to disobey his mother.

Mickey closed the door after promising he'd take Yevgeny swimming later, and he hesitated, scratching at the back of his neck. He then turned and looked at Ian, who was watching him from the bed.

"He's so fuckin' cute," Ian said, smiling. "He's so smart too. You should be proud of yourself, Mick."

"I am," Mickey said wholeheartedly. He then shuffled a little and cleared his throat, his mind still reeling from the unexpected emotions he had been feeling just minutes ago. "I was thinking about taking a shower."

Ian nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll wait out here until you're done. You're dirtier than I am, anyway," he said, with a cocky little smirk, his eyes averting to the general direction of Mickey's crotch, which was undoubtedly sticky from the handjob he'd gotten earlier.

"Yeah, uh," Mickey continued, still scratching at his neck, avoiding Ian's eyes. "I was thinking maybe you could join me. Save some water and all that shit."

Ian took in his words and grinned. He stood up and removed his robe and boxers, his eyes glued on Mickey's the entire time.

"Fuck," Mickey breathed. His eyes stayed trained on Ian's naked body the entire time he headed for the bathroom. After a beat, he followed him.

Ian started the shower, adjusted the temperature, and stepped in. "Water feels good, get in."

Mickey dazedly stepped out of his own boxers and got in. They faced each other, both of them silent as the water rained down on them. Without hesitating, he snaked his hand up Ian's wet chest, wrapped it around the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. The steam surrounded them as they kissed lazily, neither one of them in control of anything at that point.

* * *

As Mickey was making his way into the family room a while later to see if Ian and Yev wanted to toss a ball around in the yard for a bit, he heard Yev ask Ian a question that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Do you like my daddy?"

Mickey paused before entering the room, Yev's question to Ian surprising him. Equally surprising to him was the fact that he was eager to hear Ian's answer.

"Yeah," Ian answered, "I do like your daddy. I like him a lot, actually."

"But why?" Yev asked, and Mickey would have been insulted if the kid wasn't seven years old. "Do you think he's nice?"

Ian barked out a laugh at that, and Mickey frowned. Asshole. Thankfully, he kept his answer tasteful for Yevgeny's sake. "Your dad is nice, yes."

"Do you think he's pretty?"

Mickey scowled. The fuck kinda question was that?

"My mom said when you like someone you think they're the prettiest person in the world."

"Yeah, I think your dad is very pretty," Ian answered, his voice sounding completely earnest.

"Ew!" Yev exclaimed.

Ian laughed and continued, "He smells good too, like syrup and shampoo."

"He likes syrup."

"I like his smile," Ian continued. "He's also really funny."

Mickey frowned a little, wondering how true Ian's words were. Was he still only putting on an act? Why would he feel the need to put on an act in front of a seven-year-old?

"I don't think he's that funny," Yev answered.

Mickey couldn't help feeling a little betrayed by his son's words.

"He makes really good pancakes, though," Yev finished, sounding proud of that fact, at least.

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked. "I'll have to ask him to make me some, sometime."

Mickey cleared his throat and chose that moment to interrupt. He entered the living room to find Ian and Yev sitting cross-legged on the floor, toy cars and plastic racetracks in front of each of them. He watched as Ian grinned at Yev, looking like a big kid himself. He thought of Ian's deceased siblings, and he suddenly felt incredibly sad for him.

"Ey, what are you nerds up to?"

Ian looked up at him and gave him a small, easy smile. "Hey. We're playing with cars, having a little conversation, you know?"

"A little conversation, huh?" Mickey asked, scratching at his temple, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth. "What about?"

"I was telling Ian about your pancakes," Yev explained distractedly before crashing his car into Ian's, sending his car catapulting across the floor.

"Ah, you got me!" Ian exclaimed, to Yev's absolute delight.

Mickey couldn't stop the smile that pulled at his lips as he watched Ian clutch at his chest, pretending to be completely devastated by Yev's taunting laughter.

"Ian also said you're pretty," Yev exclaimed, "and that you smell like syrup."

Mickey caught Ian's eyes and found it incredibly fucking adorable when Ian blushed and looked away, laughing airily and rubbing at the back of his neck. "Oh, he did, did he?"

"Yep, he did!"

"You traitor!" Ian bellowed, playfully jabbing Yev in the tummy, to which Yev dissolved in a fit of giggles. "See if I tell you anything again!"

"Yevy, come get washed up for dinner!" Svetlana called from another room in the cabin.

"Oh, man," Yev whined before reluctantly standing up and heading to find his mom.

Mickey playfully gave Yevgeny's hair a rustle as the kid made his way out of the room. He then looked over at Ian who was watching him. He chewed on his lower lip before saying, "You look like a giant fucking dork right now, you know that?"

Ian laughed and looked down at the toy car he held in his hand. "He reminds me of, uh, of my little brother Liam," he said after a short pause, the laughter no longer in his voice. "It's nice, you know. I miss it sometimes, doing stuff like this. Didn't really get a chance to before."

Mickey didn't say anything; he just watched the emotions play on Ian's face.

"He was a little younger than Yev when he…"

"Hey," Mickey interrupted once Ian's voice trembled. When Ian looked up at him, he immediately didn't like the redness rimming his eyes. "I really am sorry about what happened to them. It's not a sob story, and I never shoulda fuckin' said that."

"You already apologized for that, Mickey."

"Fuck that, I'm apologizing again."

Ian smiled a little and looked back down at the car in his hands.

Mickey wanted to do anything to lighten the mood, anything to make Ian laugh again as he had been minutes ago. "So, pretty, huh? The fuck was that about?"

Mickey got what he wanted, Ian laughed. "Yeah, Mick. You know you're pretty."

"Fuck off," Mickey retorted. Before he turned to walk away though, he tossed Ian a small, flirty smirk over his shoulder. When he left the room, he heard Ian laugh again, and his smirk bloomed into a full-blown grin.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey and Ian decided to take a quick dip in the lake before dark. It was really just another excuse for the two of them to get half-naked and close again, though neither of them openly admitted that out loud to each other.

Ian and Mickey swam lazily in a circle facing each other. They both sporadically dipped beneath the surface to wet their hair and cool down, smiling at each other every time they popped back up to the surface only to find that they were closer to each other than they had been seconds before.

Mickey was finding it difficult to focus on anything Ian was saying, considering the fact that he was slightly captivated by the rivulets of water rolling down Ian's face, along his throat, and down the part of his chest that wasn't underwater. He couldn't help but think that it was going to be a real fucking shame when they returned to the office on Tuesday, and Ian would have to go back to wearing a shirt.

"What are you thinking about?" Ian asked, pulling Mickey from his thoughts. He had a cocky little smirk on his face, and Mickey couldn't help but wonder if the little shit knew exactly what he was thinking about.

"Thinking about what I'd have to do to make your drowning look like an accident."

"Ah, still pretending you hate me, huh?" Ian asked, smirk still in place. "Thought we were past that, especially since I had you moaning my name earlier in the bathroom."

"I didn't moan your name, asshole," Mickey snapped. "You were hearing things."

"Oh, okay."

"Seriously, you need to get your ears checked."

"Uh huh," Ian hummed. "Sure, Mickey."

Mickey answered by shooting Ian the middle finger.

Ian playfully grabbed Mickey's extended hand and tugged him a little closer.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" Mickey exclaimed, though his tone held no real bite.

Ian laughed and grabbed Mickey's hips under the water, pulling him even closer until they were chest to chest.

Mickey only resisted a little, his eyes locked on Ian's the entire time, and his adam's apple bobbing.

"Kinda wanna make you moan again," Ian muttered.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Uh huh."

"Kinda wanna punch you in your ugly mug," Mickey retorted before he fucked up by dropping his gaze to Ian's lips. He chewed on his own lower lip, trying to will his fucking body to calm the fuck down.

"Kinda looks like you wanna kiss me."

"Kinda fuckin' don't."

"So," Ian began, leaning in a little. "If I leaned in to kiss you right now, you'd stop me?"

The droplets of water clinging to Ian's eyelashes and the strip of sunburnt skin across his freckled nose slightly captivated Mickey. "Yeah, I would," he said, his tone soft.

"Okay," Ian said, pulling back. "I won't."

"Get back here," Mickey mumbled, grabbing Ian by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Right before their lips touched, he mumbled, "C'mere."

Ian sighed against his mouth. His hands were under the water, smoothing over Mickey's lower back and holding him close. Bravely, he snuck his hands even lower and grabbed Mickey's ass.

Mickey groaned and opened his mouth willingly to Ian, his hand smoothing up the nape of Ian's neck and into his damp hair.

Ian eventually pulled away from the slow, sweet kiss, slightly out of breath, and pressed his forehead to Mickey's. "Knew you wanted to kiss me."

"You're a fuckin' dick," Mickey exclaimed, pulling back a couple of feet to splash Ian in the face. He took in the way Ian's entire face lit up as he laughed. He really liked Ian's laugh. Had he always laughed like that? Movement over Ian's shoulder caught his attention, and his good mood completely deteriorated at what he saw. "What the fuck?"

Ian pushed his wet hair away from his forehead, his laughter tapering off when he realized Mickey was no longer in a playful mood. "What? What's wrong?"

Mickey was anything but in a joking mood. "The hell is he doing here?"

"What?" Ian asked, looking around with a frown. "Who?"

"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Mickey grumbled as he swam past Ian and waded out of the water, swooping down to grab his towel before marching up to the cabin where Svetlana and Nika were standing with their new arrival.

"Mickey, what the fuck?" Ian called out from behind him, but Mickey ignored him in favor of greeting their guest.

Mickey's fists clenched, and he laughed sardonically as he got closer. When he was only a few yards away from his ex-wife, he called out, "Yo, what the fuck is he doing here?"

"Mikhailo, don't be rude," Svetlana began, but she was interrupted.

"What are you doing here?" Mickey asked, that time looking his ex-boyfriend directly in the eyes.

Aleksandr locked eyes with Mickey, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hello, Mickey. You look," he paused to take in Mickey's half-naked, soaking wet body, "well."

Mickey couldn't help it; he flushed under the compliment. He quickly shook himself out of it and pressed on. "Answer me, asshole. What the hell is going on? Why are you here?"

"Do not be rude," Nika snapped. "He is family, same as you."

"Yeah, bullshit," Mickey retorted. "It has nothing to do with the fact that Ian is here, right?" He turned his head to look down towards the water but was surprised to find that Ian was already standing behind him, looking completely and utterly confused as he rubbed a towel over his head.

"Hey," Ian said uncertainly, his eyes flicking back and forth, taking in the scene before him. "Who's this?"

"Doesn't matter. He's fuckin' leaving," Mickey snapped before turning and storming into the cabin.

Ian was hot on his trail, letting the screen door thump shut behind him. "Mickey, what the hell is going on? Who is that guy?"

Mickey made his way to the fridge and opened it to retrieve a much-needed beer. He slammed the fridge door shut, popped the tab and guzzled the can in four long gulps, eager to get his nerves calmed down. He began pacing, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

"Mickey," Ian said again, that time grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to stop pacing. "Talk to me."

"Fuck off," Mickey snapped, tearing his arm away from Ian's grip.

Ian sighed and crowded Mickey against the kitchen counter, his arms caging him in.

"Back the fuck up, Gallagher," Mickey warned.

"Not until you tell me who that guy is." Ian dipped his head and waited until Mickey finally, begrudgingly, lifted his eyes to meet his. "What's going on?"

Mickey stared back at Ian, his chest heaving, his eyebrows arched, refusing to answer.

"He's the ex?" Ian finally asked when it dawned on him. He pulled his arms away, no longer caging Mickey in. "Nika invited your ex here, even though I'm here. Because I'm here." He then laughed bitterly. "You're right about her. She is somethin' fucking else."

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face and sidestepped Ian. "I'm gonna go talk to the asshole, tell him to get the fuck out of here."

"Mickey," Ian called out after him.

Mickey walked back out onto the porch without sparing Ian another glance, ending the conversation.

Ian could only stand back and watch as Mickey walked away from him to confront his ex, the same ex who happened to be the only guy he had ever been in love with.

* * *

When Mickey stepped back out onto the back porch, he glared at Svetlana and Nika. Before either of them could say anything, he snapped, "Leave us alone for a minute. You forced this fucking reunion, now fuck off so we can talk."

Nika shot Mickey a disgruntled look as she walked off the porch. Svetlana followed her, but not before sending Mickey a sympathetic look, or as sympathetic of a look that Svetlana could muster.

Once they were alone, Mickey looked at his ex, his eyebrows raised in question.

"So, judging by your reaction, I take it they didn't tell you I was coming?" Aleks asked after a pause.

Mickey laughed bitterly. "No, they didn't tell me you were coming. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"You look good."

"Yeah? You look like shit," Mickey lied because of course the fucking asshole looked good. "What the fuck are you doing here, Aleks? It's been almost two years."

"Nika called me," Aleksandr started, taking a step closer to him, to which Mickey took a step back. Aleksandr sighed and ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and continued. "She told me how you were here for the weekend… with your new boyfriend."

Mickey licked at the corner of his mouth and averted his eyes, afraid if he looked at Aleksandr long enough, his ex would be able to see right through the charade.

"I'm not gonna lie," Aleks continued. "He's cute."

"Yeah, he is," Mickey snapped without missing a beat.

"Never thought redheads were your type."

"No, but guys packin' nine inches are," Mickey blurted.

Aleks nodded curtly and looked down at the ground, apparently displeased with that bit of information.

"Answer my fuckin' question," Mickey pressed. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"You wanted to see—" Mickey began, rubbing at the corner of his mouth. "You hear I have a boyfriend, so you thought, 'hey, I'ma go visit him at the cabin, that sounds like a good fucking idea?'"

"I miss you," Aleksandr said after a heavy pause. "I still love you, Mickey. Nika told me you were with this guy, that you're serious about this guy, and I knew I couldn't sit back and let it happen without at least telling you how I feel."

"You couldn't pick up the phone, right? Two fuckin' years, Al," Mickey snapped. "You had to come all the way out here, ruin my weekend?"

"I had to tell you face to face."

Mickey continued to lick at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows arched as he stared down at the ground, trying not to let Aleksandr's words affect him.

There were good reasons why he and Aleks hadn't worked, real, solid reasons. Even though a small part of him missed and still loved Aleks a little, he knew there was no way he was going back down that road. They didn't work together. Aleks had always wanted more from him, more than Mickey was ever willing to give him. Aleks had always been too all-consuming, too controlling, just too much. Aleks wasn't the one. He definitely wasn't the one Mickey was willing to settle down for. To be honest, Mickey didn't even know if that person existed, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't Aleks.

"Alright, so. You showed up, you said your piece," Mickey retorted. "Now it's time for you to go."

Aleks took a step toward him again. That time, Mickey didn't step back. "Do you love this guy?"

"You don't get to ask me that."

"Answer the question," Aleks pressed. "Should be a simple answer."

"Maybe," Mickey blurted the first thing that popped into his head. "I don't know. It's none of your business how I feel about the guy."

"Do you love him like you loved me?" Aleks asked, standing only inches from him by that point. His eyes searched Mickey's as they breathed the same air.

"You need to back the fuck up," Mickey said, hoping his voice wasn't betraying him. With Aleks looking at him the way he was, it was starting to get difficult to remember exactly why they hadn't worked. The sexual chemistry had definitely never been the problem, he remembered. The sex was probably the only thing that hadn't been a problem.

Aleks lifted a hand and softly caressed Mickey's cheek. "Bet he doesn't fuck you like I did."

Mickey swallowed hard, his body reacting to Aleksandr's advances against his will. Before he knew what was happening, Aleks was closing in.

* * *

The longer Ian waited for Mickey to come back inside, the more irritated he got. Who the hell was this guy just showing up out of nowhere, knowing that he and Mickey were together? Granted, they weren't actually together, but that fucking asshole didn't know that. Why was it taking him so long to say goodbye to the guy?

He paced back and forth through the cabin's living room before finally deciding to go check on them. After all, to everyone but Mickey, he was Mickey's boyfriend. It was perfectly reasonable for him to want to check in and see what was up.

When he reached the back porch, he stopped short of opening the screen door when he saw Mickey and his ex shrouded in the shadows of the porch, in the middle of a heated kiss. He found that he couldn't look away, no matter how much it surprisingly hurt. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, blinked back the moisture forming in his eyes, and stepped backward, unable to look anymore once Mickey's ex's hands found Mickey's ass.

Mickey wasn't his, he had to remind himself for the hundredth time. None of it was real. Mickey barely tolerated him. Mickey felt nothing for him. The past few days had all been a charade. Mickey may have gotten caught up in it all, but in the end, it had all meant nothing. He was still just Mickey's boss.

He turned and headed towards the stairs, intent on disappearing into his and Mickey's room for the rest of the night. He froze when he saw Nika standing behind him, a small, knowing smirk dancing on her lips.

"Aleksandr was his first real love," Nika uttered, unprompted.

Ian laughed dryly and rubbed at the corner of his eye. "Yeah. Yeah, and you had to invite him here, didn't you? Knowing he's with me?"

"He was happy with him," Nika retorted, her accent thick as she eyed him disdainfully. "In the end, you will not matter."

"If he was so happy with the guy, why isn't he with him?"

"Where is he at right now?" Nika asked snidely, her eyes averted towards the screen door where they both knew Mickey and Aleks were.

Ian could only stare back at her dumbly, hurt and confused.

"It is complicated," Nika continued flatly. "Aleksandr still loves him, and I know, deep down, that Mikhailo loves him too. They only need time. They will find their way back to each other."

"You don't even like Mickey," Ian accused, his tone flat. "Why do you care so much about what makes him happy?"

"All I know is you do not make him happy," Nika replied, knowing she was hitting him right where it hurt. "I know he made all of this up to see Yevgeny. Lana may not see it, but I do."

Ian sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and dropped his eyes, nodding slowly, trying not to let Nika know how hurt he was.

"I care about Aleks' feelings, and Yevgeny's, not yours, not Mickey's," Nika clarified. "End of story."

When Nika brushed past him, Ian stared at the spot where she had been standing, his heart heavy and hurting in his chest.

* * *

After indulging in the kiss for as long as it took for Mickey to snap the fuck out of it, he pressed a hand to Aleksandr's chest and pushed him away. "The fuck are you doing?" he asked, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes immediately averting to the screen door. Luckily, no one had witnessed his monumental fuck-up.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Aleks asked, rubbing softly at his mouth as if he had felt everything in that kiss. "I kissed you to remind you what you're missing. Don't you miss me?"

"Not really, no," Mickey answered truthfully. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck and sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie, the fucking was always good with us, but that was the only thing that was good. We didn't fuckin' work, you know that."

"I would like to think we've both changed enough to work now," Aleks said. "I want to give us another shot. I think we deserve another shot."

"And, what? We'll fuck around for a while until we annoy the shit out of each other again?" Mickey asked with a sarcastic laugh.

"I love you."

"It's been two years," Mickey snapped. "You only love me because I'm with Ian. Two fucking years you didn't contact me, now all of a sudden you can't live without me? Bullshit."

"You never wanted serious before! I wanted you, Mickey! I wanted everything with you, but you didn't want it," Aleks explained, suddenly angry. "Suddenly, this guy shows up and you want it all now? What does this asshole have that I don't?"

"I'd make a list, but we don't got all fuckin' night," Mickey retorted. He then sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Look, you need to just go."

Aleks shook his head indignantly and threw his hands up in aggravation, making it that much easier for Mickey to turn him down. Aleks always had been a bit of a whiny bitch.

Mickey turned and walked away from Aleks for the second time in his life, his nerves on edge. He re-entered the cabin, finding that Ian was no longer waiting for him in the kitchen. It was probably for the best; Ian didn't need to hear or see any of the shit that happened on the porch.

Just as he was heading for the stairs, he passed Nika in the living room. He shot her a baleful glare. "Next time you wanna invite my ex over, give me a fucking warning?" He walked halfway up the steps before saying, "By the way, your little plan didn't work. Aleks is on his way home, and I'm on my way to go fuck my boyfriend." Before he could wait for Nika to respond, he walked the rest of the way up the stairs and entered his and Ian's room.

He found Ian sitting on the bed. Ian didn't look up when he entered the room.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Mickey closed the door before speaking. "Aleks left."

"Okay," Ian said, not looking up from where he was neatly folding a shirt.

"Took some effort, though," Mickey continued. "Asshole didn't wanna leave. Thought he could show up here after two years and I'd take his ass back, no questions asked."

Ian nodded, still not looking up.

"The fuck are you doing?" Mickey asked, stepping further into the room. "Was thinking we could head down to the lake to do a little fishin' with Yev before it gets too dark. Come on, I need help carrying the shit."

Ian sighed and stood up, his back still to him. "Can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Mickey asked, humor in his tone. "Of course you can."

"I'm leaving."

A heavy pause ensued, followed by, "Leaving? The fuck you mean you're leaving? We still got one more night." When Ian didn't answer right away, Mickey snapped. "Ian? Talk to me here. Is this about that Aleks bullshit? I didn't know he was coming, alright? Nika fucking invited him trying to stir shit up. I was just as surprised as you were."

Ian finally turned around and looked at Mickey, his eyes sad. "It's time for me to go, Mickey," he said sullenly, his shoulders shrugging stiffly. "I don't belong here. I'm just… I'm just fuckin' up your life."

Mickey walked further into the room but stopped a few feet short of reaching him. "How are you fuckin' up my life? If anything, you're helping me get to see my kid more. I don't say it enough, but I owe you."

"No, I shouldn't have come here to begin with," Ian said, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the shirt he held in his hands. "I came here for my own selfish reasons, not really thinking about how it could affect you or your life."

"Ian, what the fuck are you talking about?" Mickey asked, moving until he was standing directly in front of Ian. He grabbed him by the elbow when Ian turned away. "What do you mean, your own selfish reasons, huh?"

Ian looked up and smiled gently before looking away. He then sighed and said, "I came here, I did all of this, because I… I like you, Mickey. I've always liked you."

"Yeah, bullshit," Mickey retorted, amusement in his voice, his eyes bright.

"I'm serious," Ian continued earnestly. "I've always liked you."

Mickey took in Ian's words as he stared back at him. A rush of emotions coursed through him, and he didn't know exactly how to feel about what he was hearing. He released his grip on Ian's elbow, his smile fading. "You've always treated me like shit at work."

"You hated me," Ian stated, smiling gently. "It was always obvious. So, I kept my distance and did everything I could to not get close to you. You just mistook that for me being a douchebag, I guess."

"So," Mickey said after a short pause. "The fuck was all this about, then? You just trying to trick your way into my fuckin' pants?"

Ian looked down, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I guess I just wanted to know you, and I wanted you to get to know me, outside of work. I'd be lying if I said that it… that it didn't feel good to be a part of a family again… for a little while, at least." He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. He then turned and resumed his packing.

Mickey watched helplessly as Ian continued packing, his eyes trained on Ian's back. Finally, he muttered, "Don't."

Ian froze a little. "Don't what?"

"Don't go," Mickey blurted. "Look, stay here with me until tomorrow. We only have the rest of tonight, then we leave in the morning."

"Then what?" Ian asked bluntly, still not looking at him.

"What do you mean, then what?" Mickey asked. "Then we leave and this shit will be over. If you leave now, everyone will ask questions. Nika will think she fucking won or some shit."

"What if I want more?" Ian responded after a pause, still refusing to look at Mickey.

"What do you mean, more?"

"More, Mickey," Ian said, finally turning towards him. "I want more, I want you. I want real. I don't wanna fake this anymore. I want you, and I want to… to take you out on dates."

Mickey swallowed thickly and stared back at him, his head spinning. He wanted to say so many other things, but what came out was, "I don't fuckin' do dates or relationships. You know that."

Ian nodded a little and looked back down, looking clearly dejected. "Right."

"Look, it was fun while it lasted, but this was all fake, Ian. I was doing this for my kid, that's it. It didn't mean anything," Mickey said. "You're my boss, and I'm your employee. You were doing me a favor, that's it. I thought we were clear on that?"

Ian only nodded, remained silent.

"We got a little caught up in it all. It was fuckin' stupid, but it doesn't—" Mickey paused to scrub a hand down his face before he tried again, settling on, "I only have room for one person in my life right now, and that's my kid."

Ian nodded and looked down at the shirt in his hands. He sniffed before saying, "And Aleks?"

Mickey frowned. "Aleks? What? No, Aleks and I are done. I already fuckin' told you that."

"Didn't look done to me," Ian murmured.

"Look," Mickey began after a long pause, "I don't know what you saw, or what you think you saw, but it was nothing. He kissed me, I didn't fuckin' want him to."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Mickey," Ian said sullenly. "It's none of my business, really. I guess I just thought that—" he began, but stopped short of what he wanted to say.

"You thought what, huh?" Mickey asked, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

"I thought something else, I guess, I don't know." Ian zipped up his duffel bag and hesitated before saying, "I guess this is why it's best I just stay away from people, keep to myself. It's better that way." He smiled gently after a strained pause, even though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm gonna call an Uber. Tell Svetlana and Nika that I had a deadline at work that I forgot about, and that I had to go." He walked to the door, hesitating a little once he opened it to leave. Then he was gone.

After a moment's hesitation, Mickey left the room and headed down the steps, intent on catching Ian before he left. He didn't feel right letting Ian leave like that. Something wasn't sitting too well with him. He wasn't ready for their weekend to be over.

Once he got to the bottom of the steps, though, he stopped when he saw that Yevgeny had gotten to Ian first.

"Where are you going?" Yev asked, his big, sad eyes eyeing Ian's bag.

"I have to leave, Yev," Ian said, the disappointment evident in his own voice.

"No!" Yev exclaimed. "You can't leave yet."

"I have to," Ian explained. "I have something important to take care of at home."

"Can it wait?" Yev asked. "I don't want you to leave."

Mickey watched the entire exchange with a heavy heart. In just a few short days, Yev had apparently gotten attached to Ian. He couldn't help but think that he knew the feeling.

"I'm sorry, Yevy," Ian said, his voice breaking a little. He glanced back at Mickey, silently pleading with him to interfere.

Mickey looked at Ian, then back at his heartbroken kid, then back to Ian.

Even though he felt as if something was off about the whole thing, he knew what he had to do. His kid came before anything and anyone. Whatever he or Ian had been feeling the past few days didn't matter. The sooner Ian left Yevgeny's life, the better off everyone would be. He had to protect Yev's feelings in all of it. His feelings didn't matter, not when he had his son and career to think about. He wasn't going to string Ian along, play with Yev's emotions, only for it to all turn to shit like it had with Aleks, and it would turn to shit. Everything in Mickey's life always did.

It was all supposed to be for the weekend. Mickey was intent on keeping it that way.

"Ian has to go, Yev," he finally said, firmly. "C'mere."

Yev pouted a little and hung his head before making his way over to his dad.

Mickey wrapped an arm around Yev's small shoulders and pulled him close to his side. He hesitated for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet Ian's. He didn't miss the way Ian lifted his hand to quickly wipe at his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday?" he finally said after a heavy pause, his voice thick. "Back to business?"

Ian looked back at Mickey for a handful of seconds before dropping his eyes and nodding curtly. "Yeah, back to business." As he turned to open the door, Yev called out.

"Ian!" Yev ran the few feet that separated them and flung his arms around Ian's waist when he turned around.

Ian hesitated a little, swallowing thickly, before placing a gentle hand on Yev's back. "I'll see you, kiddo. Be good for your dad, yeah?"

"I will," Yev promised sadly as he pulled away.

Ian looked back up at Mickey and forced a small smile. "Thanks for the weekend. I had fun."

"Yeah, me too," Mickey replied, his heart thumping dully in his chest. He poked his tongue against his cheek and watched as Ian reached for the door.

Mickey stood there heavyhearted, Yev at his side, and watched Ian go.


	5. Chapter 5

Mickey continued to stand frozen, his eyes glued to the door Ian had walked out of. He barely registered Yevgeny leaving his side and running up the stairs, his sniffles making it obvious that he was crying.

'Me too, kid,' he thought bitterly to himself.

He couldn't really believe himself. He should be ecstatic that the whole shitshow was over. He should be relieved that Ian was on his way back to Chicago, that he didn't have to put on an act anymore. He never thought he'd feel so shitty at the end of it all. He would never have thought that, in the end, it would all end up not being much of an act at all.

"Mikhailo, what is going on?" Svetlana inquired from behind him. "Why are you staring at door like idiot? And why is Yevgeny crying? What did you do to him?"

Mickey's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he ran a hand down his face. He knew he had to come clean, knew he wasn't that great of an actor. Plus, he was sick of the charade. He turned around and eyed his ex-wife dejectedly, surprised to see that she actually looked mildly concerned for him. "Ian left."

Svetlana crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall she was standing near. "Why did he leave? Was it about Aleks? Did you have lovers' squirrel?"

"It's lovers' quarrel," Mickey spat. "The fuck is a lovers' squirrel? That doesn't even make any fuckin' sense! The fuck does a squirrel have to do with… you know what, never mind."

Svetlana's eyes narrowed.

Mickey rubbed at his mouth and swallowed around the lump in his throat before continuing. "Ian, uh…" he began, having trouble finding the right words to explain to his ex-wife that he'd only been pretending to be in love with his fucking boss.

Just as was Mickey's luck, Nika came walking in from the kitchen, her expression slightly smug as she eyed his anxious demeanor. "What is going on?" she asked, feigning a concerned tone, but he didn't miss the quick look she threw his way or the weird twitch of her lip.

"Orange boy left," Svetlana answered, her eyes still trained on Mickey.

"What happened?" Nika asked, smirking still. "Loverboy finally come to his senses and break your heart? You look like you have balls in vise."

"Fuck off."

"Mikhailo," Svetlana warned.

Nika huffed a laugh as she watched Mickey back off under his ex-wife's glare. She then shrugged a shoulder when Svetlana threw a look her way that said 'don't you start'. "What?"

"Tell me why he left," Svetlana ordered, once her attention was focused back on Mickey.

"Ian wasn't—" Mickey began. "He was never my—"

Svetlana slowly uncrossed her arms and leaned away from the wall. Behind her, Nika listened raptly.

"We were never together, alright?" Mickey finally blurted, his eyes focused balefully on Nika. "You fuckin' happy now? We made all that shit up so you two would get off my fuckin' back about being serious with someone. I made all of it up so I could see my son, which is bullshit because I love that kid. I shouldn't have to make shit up to see him!"

"You made all of this up?" Svetlana questioned, her brows furrowed.

"I knew it," Nika drawled, her accent thick. "I knew it! Didn't I tell you? I told you it was not real!"

"Nika…" Svetlana began.

"Fuck you," Mickey spat, staring daggers at his ex-wife's lover. "Fuck you for trying to keep me away from my own kid. Fuck you for inviting Aleks here, and fuck you for thinking—"

"For what?" Nika interrupted crudely. "For being right? For knowing you are no good, piece-of-shit, lying father? What kind of role model are you? And what kind of man brings a stranger around his son? Do you even really know this man?"

"He's not a stranger," Mickey exclaimed. "He's my fuckin' boss!"

"A boss you supposedly hated a week ago!"

"Fuck you, you don't know shit!"

"Oh, so you are saying you did not hate him?"

"Don't worry about it!"

"Enough, you two! You are acting like bratty children," Svetlana interrupted, her accent thick, and her eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth between the two irate adults.

Mickey opened his mouth to respond, but he quickly shut it, knowing there was no use in arguing. He turned his back to the two women and exhaled deeply, rubbing his mouth to keep himself from saying something he might regret. He was already in a big enough hole as it was. Instead of saying anything else, he made his way up the stairs two at a time, intent on comforting his son… not knowing when the next time he'd be able to would be.

He found Yevgeny curled up in his bed, his face buried in his Star Wars pillow. He slowly walked into the room and sat down on the edge of the twin-sized bed. He reached out and gently rubbed a hand over Yevgeny's unruly hair. "Hey, buddy. You okay? Talk to me."

"Go away," Yevgeny mumbled.

"I'm not goin' away," Mickey replied. "I'm never goin' away so get that idea outta your head."

Yevgeny sighed and rolled over onto his back, his puffy, red eyes focused up at his dad. "I didn't want Ian to leave."

"Neither did I, bud," Mickey answered after a beat, surprising himself a little at how easily the confession came. "But he had to go."

"Why?"

"He just had to."

"Will he come back?"

"I—" Mickey began, not really knowing how to answer that. "Probably not, no."

Yev sniffled and played with the edge of his blanket before asking timidly, "Do you like Ian?"

Mickey's eyes shot up to his son's face before looking away in the next instant. He didn't want to lie to his son anymore. He had lied to him far too many times that weekend. "Yeah," he finally answered, his eyebrows furrowing a little as the words left his mouth. "I do like Ian."

"If you like him then why did you let him leave?"

"It's not that—" Mickey began. He couldn't even understand any of it himself, how could he explain it to a seven-year-old. "It's not that easy, kid." Nothing's ever that easy, not in his life.

"Why not?" Yev asked, his eyes wide, and his expression completely fucking earnest. It broke Mickey's heart a little. "He likes you, you like him. That sounds easy to me."

Mickey stared back at his son, not knowing what to say to that. He knew his commitment-phobia issues were way too fucking complicated for a seven-year-old to understand. Instead of saying anything, he bent down and pressed a smacking kiss to the top of Yev's head. "I love you," he mumbled into Yevgeny's hair. "That's all you need to know. Get some sleep."

Yevgeny pouted some more when Mickey pulled away to leave the room.

"Goodnight."

Instead of answering, Yevgeny turned on his side away from his dad, ending the conversation.

Mickey headed to his own guest room to pack up his bags, eager and intent on leaving the next morning, forgetting the weekend ever happened, and going back to his regular, uncomplicated life.

* * *

Until that moment, Mickey had been pretty fucking sure that seeing Ian again wouldn't be a horrible, awkward thing. Once the elevator doors slid open that day, though, he knew he'd been bullshitting himself all along.

He was in no way ready to face Ian again yet. How could he just return to work, return to being Ian's assistant, as if nothing had happened between them? As if they hadn't kissed, and groped each other, and fucking talked. He knew he had to power through it, no matter how shitty the situation. There was no other way around it. Short of quitting or switching positions, he had to deal with the consequences. So he sighed, adjusted the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder, and stepped off the elevator with his best game face on.

"Mickey, my man! You got some sun!" Wayne called out before Mickey had even taken two steps, his head peeking out over the top of his cubicle, his usual shit-eating grin firmly in place. "You and bossman look like a couple of fine-ass lobsters!"

Mickey smirked in Wayne's direction, his heart racing at the thought that Ian was already in the office, just a few yards away. Of course he was, work was his life. "Good morning to you too, asshole. You're just as fuckin' ugly as ever."

"Bitch, please!" Wayne retorted. "Anyway, it's about time you got some color on that pale ass!"

Mickey ignored the curious, sidelong looks he received from some of his other coworkers. "You don't know shit about my ass."

"We can change that, you know? Name the time and place!"

"In your fuckin' dreams."

"Bossman is in one of his moods again," Wayne continued after laughing. "You'd think after a long, relaxing weekend the stick in his ass wouldn't be so wedged, but alas."

Mickey gritted his teeth, biting back a snide remark, not wanting Wayne to catch on that he didn't quite hate Ian anymore. Quite the opposite, actually.

Wayne continued rambling, albeit in a hushed tone, "Guess it's safe to say he didn't get laid. We were all hoping he'd get some dick so it'd take the edge off. He's been riding our asses all month, and not in a fun way."

"Alright, why don't you lay the hell off the guy for once? Don't you have work to do instead of worrying about where our boss puts his dick?" Mickey snapped before fully thinking it through.

When he saw the utterly confused look register on Wayne's face, he knew he'd fucked up. He had never, not once, stuck up for Ian in any way, shape, or form in the past. In fact, he'd always been the one starting the Ian hate around the office nine times out of ten. He didn't know how he was going to explain himself out of that one.

He watched the emotions play across Wayne's face, and before Wayne could open his mouth to retort, Ian's office door opened.

He hesitated, turned, and he and Ian locked eyes for the first time since Ian left the cabin. Ian visibly swallowed and looked away first. Mickey chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

"Uh, Mickey. Hey, you're here," Ian said, keeping his eyes averted. "Put your stuff away and come into my office. I need to talk to you about something important."

Mickey nodded, finding himself wishing Ian would look at him. At least then he would be able to gauge Ian's attitude over their current situation. He walked to his cubicle and dumped his stuff on his desk before entering Ian's office, his heart hammering the entire time. He didn't know if he was ready for that conversation yet. He closed the door behind him, giving them the privacy they needed, and eyed Ian who was sitting at his desk.

"Have, uh, have a seat," Ian said after Mickey had shut the door.

Mickey wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and sat down in his usual chair across from Ian's desk. He tongued the inside of his cheek as he waited for Ian to say something else, anything else.

"We have a big week," Ian finally said as he scrolled on his iPad, his eyes still avoiding Mickey's. "Not unusual after a long weekend, but we need to buckle down and prepare. I have a few quasi-important meetings later this afternoon, which I'm sure you already know about, but we should get—"

"Really?" Mickey interrupted. He watched as Ian finally looked at him. "This is really how you're gonna play this?"

"What d'you mean?" Ian asked, leaning back casually in his swivel chair.

"You know what the fuck I mean," Mickey spat. "This bullshit where you're acting as if nothing happened this weekend."

"Nothin' did happen," Ian answered with a small shrug of his shoulders, acting completely blase about it all, which was really fucking irritating.

Mickey tongued the inside of his cheek and arched his brows, not knowing how to respond to that.

"You said it yourself, Mickey," Ian continued with a resigned sigh. "We're going back to business. Isn't that what we both agreed on?"

"I didn't think it would mean you'd go back to—" Mickey began, but then he stopped himself. The fuck was he doing? Ian was right, they had both agreed to go back to business, to forget everything that had happened over the weekend. So why was he so irritated by the fact that that was exactly what Ian seemed to be doing?

"You know what, fuck it. You're right," He settled on. He bent down and grabbed his own iPad from his bag. "Let's get back to business." He opened his calendar to Ian's meetings for the day, fully intent on getting on the same page as his boss.

When Ian dropped his head and continued his monotonous work-related droning, Mickey snuck a look at him through his lashes, shifted his jaw a few times and sighed, willing himself to get the fuck over it.

* * *

The first day back to work after a long weekend always fucking sucked, but that day was proving to be more torture than usual.

Things between Mickey and Ian at work had always been a little awkward, a little tense, to say the very least… but that day, things were tense and awkward in a completely different way. In a 'we kissed and groped and thought about fucking each other, but now we gotta go on and pretend as if nothing happened between us' kind of way. It fucking sucked.

Mickey also wished Ian didn't look so fucking good in the blue button-down shirt he was wearing, with the sleeves rolled up a little, and his tie a little loose at the knot. It was the same look Ian usually sported at work in the past, but he could've sworn Ian had never looked that good before. It was infuriating.

He also found himself getting irritated every time Ian wouldn't look at him, or the way Ian would mindlessly bite his own bottom lip while he was deep in thought, a habit he'd always had, but a habit Mickey was currently fully aware of and obsessed with. He couldn't help but remember the way he'd bitten that bottom lip himself a few short days ago that suddenly seemed like a lifetime ago.

Ian looked up in the middle of a sentence and stopped talking once he realized Mickey was looking at him. "What?" he asked, his brows furrowed. He then wiped at the corner of his mouth. "Do I have mustard on my face? I devoured a hot dog on my lunch break earlier."

"No, your face looks good," Mickey answered, but he quickly backtracked. "No, uh, there's no mustard. I was just staring into space, I guess. Zoned the fuck out."

Ian cleared his throat and looked down at his iPad, looking a little hurt by that. "Am I boring you? You can go if you want. I can finish up here by myself."

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, knowing he'd said the wrong thing. What else was new? "Nah, I'm good," he said after a slight hesitation. "It's my job to be here, right?"

"Right," Ian muttered before going back to what he'd been saying.

Eventually, the workday came to a close, and Mickey stood from his chair and gathered his things, eager to get the fuck out of there. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt that uncomfortable.

Once again, Ian didn't look up. Mickey knocked his knuckle against his nose and stewed in his irritation. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, see ya," Ian murmured as he mindlessly typed away on his laptop.

Mickey chewed on his lip, waited for a beat, then turned to leave the office, intent on downing a six-pack at home and forgetting the day from hell. He barely made it to the elevator before cursing under his breath and marching right back into Ian's office. "No, you know what? Fuck you."

Ian looked up, his eyebrows furrowed. "What're you doing?"

"Fuck you," Mickey said again, closing the door behind him, not wanting the rest of the office to hear what he had to say. "I don't wanna go back to business."

It seemed to take a few moments for Mickey's words to register. Ian's expression finally softened. "What?"

Mickey walked further into Ian's office, his eyes never once leaving Ian's. He wanted to take the words back, but he knew there was no turning back. "I said… I don't want this," he paused to motion the space between them, "to just be about business."

Ian opened his mouth once, twice, three times before finally saying, "What do you want then, Mickey?"

"I want this weird shit to end, for one," Mickey retorted. "Fuck, I miss talking to you about shit other than work, I miss hanging out with you. I miss when shit wasn't so fucking awkward and tense. I can't work like this. It's even worse than it used to be. Never thought I'd say that, but it sucks."

Ian smiled a little at that. "I miss all that stuff too."

"I hate this," Mickey continued, motioning vaguely between them again. "I hate this awkward, weird shit, so can we cut it the fuck out, please?"

Ian sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What do you wanna do? How do we make this less weird?"

Mickey tongued the inside of his cheek as he stared back at him. "I think we should try bein' friends, see how that goes. Enough of this 'just business' bullshit. You're not just my boss anymore, and I'm not just your fucking employee. So, can you at least look at me when we talk, for starters?"

"You wanna be friends?"

"Yeah," Mickey confirmed, shrugging and looking a little offended by the question. "We never got a chance to really get to know each other, not really. I don't want a relationship or any bullshit like that, and I definitely don't wanna just be your employee."

Ian rubbed a hand over his head and averted his eyes to the floor, seemingly thinking over Mickey's suggestion. He finally nodded curtly and lifted his gaze to meet Mickey's. "Yeah, okay, we can do that. I can… I can do that."

"Good," Mickey said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. A silence ensued, and he wondered what the next step should be. He'd never really had a friend before. "So, you wanna go grab a beer, shoot some pool? Maybe trick some douchebags into giving us money again?"

"I shouldn't," Ian said after a moment of thinking it over, motioning towards his laptop. "I have a lot of shit to catch up on. Long weekend, remember?"

Mickey hated that he even felt disappointed by Ian's declination.

"Definitely tomorrow, though?" Ian added, smiling gently.

Mickey chewed on his bottom lip and nodded in affirmation. "Tomorrow's good, yeah."

Ian smiled back and went back to his laptop.

Mickey exited Ian's office, for real that time, definitely in a better mood than he'd been in at the beginning of the day.

* * *

Going from enemies to pretend boyfriends to friends was proving to be an easy transition, despite Mickey's initial doubts.

Over the next week, things at work were decidedly a lot less awful. Ian actually looked at him when he spoke, they talked about stuff that didn't have to do with work (shit like the Sox kicking the Pirates' ass the night before, and the new Mediterranean food truck down the street, and Susan from HR reportedly having herpes), and they even went for drinks a couple of nights after work.

If someone would have told him six months ago (hell, two weeks ago) that he'd actually enjoy being in Ian's company, that he and Ian would actually end up being friends, he would have punched them in the face and spat in their food.

As the workweek was coming to an end, Ian and Mickey made plans to meet up at the bar across the street for a beer to unwind from their busy week and shoot pool. As they were gathering up their things to go, Ian's phone buzzed on his desk.

Ian looked at the caller ID, tossed his head back a little, and groaned. "Shit, what the fuck does he want? Asshole doesn't know how to take a hint."

"Who?" Mickey asked as he stood to leave, patting his pockets to make sure he had his own phone.

"Jared."

Mickey paused, the name vaguely registering in his head. "Jared? Wait, your psycho ex Jared? The guy who stormed in here a couple weeks ago, called you a whore, and punched me in the face? That fuckin' Jared?"

Ian sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah, that Jared. He's been calling me nonstop the past couple days." He was looking down as he continued to gather his things, missing the frown on Mickey's face. "He apologized, wants to get back together, says he misses me. Even gave me the whole 'I'll never do it again' spiel."

"And?" Mickey asked before thinking, knowing it was none of his business, knowing he shouldn't give a shit.

"And, what?" Ian asked with a shrug.

"You goin' back to the asshole?"

Ian laughed as he hefted his messenger bag onto his shoulder and headed for the door. "I mean, the fucking was good, I'll kinda miss that, but no thanks. The best dick isn't even worth all that."

Mickey scoffed and opened his mouth to rant, but immediately stopped himself. He rubbed his lower lip, silently berating himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? So Ian's ex wanted to get back together with him? So fucking what? That had absolutely nothing to do with him. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Still, it irritated him that the guy thought he even still stood a chance with Ian after the way he'd treated him. Ian may be a major pain in the ass at times (okay, most of the time), but he didn't deserve to be treated like that.

Mickey and Ian left the office and made their way to the small bar across the street that was quickly becoming their spot. They took two seats at the end of the bar and waved the bartender down. The bar was already crowded with people in suits also looking to have a few cold ones after a hard day's work.

After their drinks were placed in front of them, Mickey shot a trepidatious look in Ian's direction. He knew the next words out of his mouth were completely unnecessary and probably out of line, but he said them anyway. "So, what's the deal with you and that guy, anyway?" he asked. What? He was just a guy shooting the shit with his friend.

"What guy?"

Mickey smirked. "You know what guy, asshole. Don't play stupid. The guy we were talking about ten fuckin' minutes ago. The guy blowing up your phone."

"Oh, that guy," Ian said with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, _that_ guy."

"He started as a hookup," Ian began before taking a sip of his draft beer. "We hooked up for a few weeks. He wanted more, I didn't."

"Yeah, you've told me all that before," Mickey said, "But why?"

"Why, what?"

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, moments away from snapping. "Why didn't you want more?"

"I don't know," Ian answered with a shrug as he reached for a bowl of nuts sitting on the bar. He cracked a peanut open before saying, "Just didn't feel it, I guess."

"Was what he said true?" Mickey asked before tonguing at the inside of his bottom lip. He stared down into his beer, silently chastising himself for asking such questions, but they were friends, right? Friends ask each other shit, talk about shit.

"Was what true?"

"About you being a player? Sleeping around?" Mickey didn't know why he was asking twenty fucking questions, and he could feel himself being annoying, but he couldn't stop his curiosity from getting the best of him.

"I don't know, I guess," Ian finally answered. He rubbed at the top of his head and sighed. "But it's not like we were exclusive, you know?"

"And if you had been?" Mickey asked, staring down into his beer again. "Think you woulda fucked around on him?"

"What's with the third degree?" Ian asked, giving him an 'are you feeling okay' look.

"Just curious. Trying to make conversation, you know?" Mickey retorted, eyebrows raised. "Don't have to answer if you don't want to, fuck."

"As I said," Ian answered after another pause. "He wasn't the one. There was nothing there to settle down for."

"So, if you met the right person, you could be a one-man man?" Mickey wanted to kick his own ass for asking such a stupid question.

Ian looked up, and his face broke into a grin. He then looked down, still grinning, and Mickey's stomach did a little flip. Probably shouldn't have had that spicy salsa at lunch. "I have to meet the right guy first, then I'll let you know."

Mickey thumbed at his nose and pretended to look at something behind the bar.

Ian broke the awkward silence a moment later. "Can you see yourself being with someone for the long haul, you know, eventually?"

"Nah, I like dick too much," Mickey deadpanned.

Ian chuckled into his beer mug.

Mickey looked up and grinned as he let out a little laugh of his own. After a moment, he said, "Don't know. I'd have to wait and see too, I guess. The guy would have to be pretty fuckin' special though, I know that."

Ian finally looked up, and their eyes locked.

Mickey swallowed thickly, unable to look away for some reason. A moment later, the bartender stopped to check on them, breaking the moment. Mickey was glad for it. As they went back to casual conversation, he realized he didn't have to think about what any of the words they'd exchanged had meant.

That was perfectly fine with him.

* * *

It was Saturday night, and Mickey was bored out of his mind. He'd thought about calling to see if Ian wanted to hang out, maybe shoot some pool or catch a movie, but ultimately decided against it.

After their weird conversation at the bar the night before, Mickey had decided to cool it a little as far as Ian was concerned. He didn't want to seem creepy in his newfound quest to get to know his boss better.

He picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. He instantly smiled when he heard Yev's voice after the third ring.

"Dad!"

"Hey, kiddo."

"Are you coming to see me soon?"

"I'm tryin' bud, working on it," Mickey answered, suddenly missing his kid something fierce. He hadn't seen Yev since leaving the lake a little over a week and a half before. He was due for a visitation. He hoped Svetlana and Nika would be on board considering they were both still pissed that he had lied to them. "Where's your mom? I need to talk to her."

"She's at work," Yev answered, "but mama Nika is here."

"No, don't—" Mickey started, knowing Yev was handing Nika the phone, but he was too late. When Nika spoke, he scowled.

"What do you want, it is late."

"Hello to you too," Mickey spat, pinching his nose. "I wanted to talk to Svet. I'll call back later."

"If it is about seeing Yev, you can forget about it," Nika interrupted. "We have plans all week."

"Like I said," Mickey said through partially gritted teeth. "I'll call back and talk to Svet."

"Do not bother," Nika replied. "Her answer will be same as me."

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, getting mentally prepared for whatever bullshit he knew she was about to spew.

"What makes you think you deserve to see Yevgeny after what you pulled, anyway?"

"What makes you think you have any right to keep me from my kid?" Mickey snapped. "He's my fuckin' kid!"

"You did not even want him!"

"I had no fuckin' choice!" Mickey bellowed. "Excuse the fuck outta me for being forced into something I didn't want, and for being forced to take care of a kid I never planned on having, but I'm fuckin' trying! I love that kid more than anything! I did all that shit for him!"

Nika was silent for a moment before saying, "Svetlana and I are getting married in few months. I want to adopt Yev as my own."

"Over my dead body, bitch," Mickey spat before ending the phone call. He got up and paced his small living room, his whole body trembling in anger. He thought about his next move for only a few moments before grabbing his keys and leaving his apartment.

He vaguely remembered where Ian lived.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a shirtless Ian opened the door to his fancy apartment. His face paled a little when he saw Mickey standing uninvited in his hallway. "Mickey? What, uh, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

As soon as the question left Ian's mouth, Mickey wondered the same thing. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words didn't come out. What the fuck did he expect showing up there? He was upset, angry, fucking irate over Nika. What did that have to do with Ian? He dropped his gaze to take in Ian's naked upper body. He quickly averted his eyes and rubbed nervously at his mouth. Really, what the fuck was he doing there?

"Sorry, I know it's kinda late. I, uh… I just needed to talk to someone, figured I could talk to you," he finally answered. "Can I come in? It'll only be for a minute."

Ian opened his mouth to answer, but some noise coming from inside the apartment caused him to abruptly shut his mouth.

Mickey sighed and looked over Ian's shoulder just as Jared appeared over it.

He didn't even know how to describe the emotion he felt when he saw Ian's guest. Jared. A shirtless Jared, with his hand resting gently on Ian's bare shoulder as he gazed at Mickey disdainfully. Mickey quickly averted his eyes and chuckled dryly under his breath.

"Your employees usually make house calls?" Jared asked, snidely looking Mickey over.

"Shit," Ian muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. He sent Jared an irritated look. "Just go back inside, alright? I'll be back in a minute."

Jared sent Mickey another baleful look before heading back inside the apartment.

Ian stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed with him as he went. "Sorry about that."

Mickey was still rubbing at his mouth as he stared down at the floor. "So," he began after a few moments of tense silence. "Not running back to the asshole, huh?"

"Hey, no one else is lining up outside my door to be with me," Ian said, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Mickey shifted his jaw back and forth a few times and finally looked up. Another weird silence ensued. "He treats you like shit, though," he finally said without really thinking about it. Why was he making shit so weird for no reason? "That doesn't fuckin' matter to you?"

"I wasn't exactly innocent in any of it."

Mickey laughed sardonically at that.

Ian sighed and scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair. "I know it's dumb, I'm dumb, but it's just… we're having fun, that's all."

"Right," Mickey said with a light, unhappy laugh. "You said the fucking is good, so why not, right? The rest doesn't matter, as long as the dick is good."

"Why are you here, Mickey?" Ian asked again after a pause, his tone slightly uneven.

"Had a fight with Nika," Mickey answered glumly. "Thought I could come talk to my friend about it, but you're busy getting your dick wet, so I'll go."

"You can come in," Ian called out as Mickey turned to go. "We weren't in the middle of anything. We were about to watch a movie, actually. We have beer and snacks. Jared brought over some good weed." He then paused and scrubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Shit, I'm your boss, probably shouldn't be offering you weed. I'm fucking up all over the place tonight."

Mickey knew he would rather shove toothpicks under his fingernails than hang out with Ian and his asshole fuck buddy, but he simply said, "Nah, man, it's cool. Go do whatever. I'll see you at work on Monday. Have fun."

As Mickey turned to go for the second time, Ian called out, "If you wanna talk, about Nika… or anything, you have my number. I mean, we're friends, right?"

Mickey waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he pressed the button for the elevator, silently chastising himself for even showing up there. He really didn't know what he'd been expecting.

He had a weird knot in his stomach for the rest of the night.

* * *

Later that night, Svetlana found Nika lounging on the couch in lingerie with a glass of wine in her hand and Dexter on the television.

"What is it with you and this creepy show?" She collapsed on the couch next to her love and leaned in to nuzzle her face into her neck. "Mm, you smell good. I may have to eat you later."

Nika laughed and ran her fingers through Svetlana's long hair with her free hand. "Mm, eat away." As Svetlana hummed and buried her hand between Nika's thighs, eager to get to the good stuff, Nika decided to bring up Mickey. "Your piece of shit ex-husband called earlier, wanted to know if he could see Yevgeny."

Svetlana pulled back, her expression serious. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him no, that he doesn't deserve to see Yev," Nika answered coolly. "Not yet, anyway, not after what he and orange idiot pulled."

Svetlana sighed and sat back on the couch, no longer in the mood to play. "How long are we to wait?"

Nika frowned, leaning forward to set her wineglass on the table. "I thought we had agreed that he was not to see Yev, not for now at least."

"Haven't we punished him enough?"

"Unbelievable, you are on his side?" Nika asked, the feeling of betrayal evident in her tone. "I cannot believe this. Until recently, he wanted nothing to do with Yevgeny! Now all of sudden he is father of the year?"

"He is trying, Nika," Svetlana reasoned. "You cannot deny that."

"He lied to us!"

"He did it for Yevy," Svetlana said, reaching out to caress Nika's face, but she was denied. She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "What do you expect me to do here?"

Nika stood up from the couch, irate. "I want you to be on my side. You are supposed to be on my side!"

"And, what? Keep Yevgeny from his father?" Svetlana retorted. "Regardless of what his father has done in the past, Yevgeny adores him…"

"I do not know why! He is no good, piece of shit," Nika spat. "I told him I want custody of Yevgeny. That we are to be married soon, and I want him. I raised that little boy, not him."

"Nika…"

"No, you must choose!"

Svetlana stood up, suddenly angry. "Enough is enough, no more! If I must choose, I choose Yevgeny! Mickey is good father to Yevgeny! I will not make him jump through hoops anymore! He did this all for Yevy! And now he is hurting! He is Yevgeny's father whether you like it or not. He did not choose it, I did not choose it, but it is what it is."

Nika stared back at Svetlana, dumbfounded by her outburst.

"The only choice needed to be made is yours," Svetlana continued, crossing her arms. "You stay or you go. Either way, Yevgeny will have his father."

Nika could only stand back and watch as Svetlana left the room.

* * *

Mickey ignored a text from Ian the next morning.

He spent all of his day off lounging in his underwear, eating dry cereal straight from the box, and watching old Seinfeld reruns. Monday came around way too fast and, before he was ready, he had to face Ian.

He'd thought about calling in sick, but decided against it, knowing it would only make things weird. That was exactly what he was trying to avoid. There was nothing to feel weird about. He and Ian were friends. He'd gone to his friend's place to talk about something important, and his friend had been in the middle of a date, or a fuck, or whatever the hell it had been.

That's all it was.

He reluctantly rolled out of bed, showered, shaved, and put on his best nonchalant face and headed for work, intent on acting as if nothing unusual had happened.

Ian was at his desk when he arrived. He looked up as soon as Mickey entered. "Hey." He smiled gently at the caramel macchiato Mickey placed in front of him.

"It's still hot," Mickey grumbled as he sat down, immediately taking his iPad from his bag, intent on getting the workday started and over with.

"Everything okay?" Ian asked as he sipped his drink. "You seemed pretty upset when you showed up at my place the other night. I texted you a couple times."

"Look, I don't give a shit about who you stick your dick into or… or vice versa," Mickey snapped. "I'm just here to work, alright? Can we just work and not talk about your fucked-up relationship, or whatever the fuck it is?"

"I was talking about before you saw Jared," Ian answered slowly. "You know, when I first opened the door?"

Mickey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he had some explaining to do. "Fuck."

"Are you upset about Jared being at my place?" Ian asked, frowning.

"Fuck off."

Ian laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Okay, whatever. I don't even know why I bother."

"The fuck's with the tone?"

"Nothing," Ian said, going back to his computer. He then muttered, "Just that you're really confusing, that's all."

"The fuck you just say?"

"Nothing."

Mickey's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Didn't sound like nothing."

Ian looked up, his face the picture of pure befuddlement. "What's your problem, Mickey? Seriously?"

"I don't have a fucking problem."

"Sure the hell seems like you do."

"Oh. Oh, okay, tough guy!" Mickey snarled. "If you think it seems like I do, fuckin' enlighten me."

"Okay, fine. You don't wanna date me, so I leave the cabin. You say you wanna go back to business, so that's what I do," Ian began, his tone uneven. "Then you decide you want to be friends, so I agree to that. Then you show up at my apartment out of nowhere and flip your shit because I'm screwing my ex again. Tell me what the hell you want, Mickey. I don't even think you know!"

"Fuck you, I don't give two shits about where you stick your dick."

"Yeah, you said that already, but it kinda seems like you do."

"I was upset about my kid, and I thought I could go to you to talk about it, since, you know, you pretended you cared about my kid—"

"Oh, fuck you," Ian spat. "I care about Yevgeny, you know that," he paused. "I care about you too, but you didn't want any part of that, remember? So you don't get to be upset about who I fuck."

Mickey ran a hand over his hair, wondering where the conversation had gone so wrong. Wasn't he supposed to show up to work and act nonchalant about everything? Nothing seemed fucking nonchalant about any of it.

"I don't, fuck—I don't even know," Mickey said, standing up. "I need to get the fuck out of here. I'm taking a personal day. Dock my pay or whatever, I don't give a shit."

Ian stood up and grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Talk to me, Mickey."

Mickey sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I can't talk to you because I don't even know what to say." He slowly lifted his eyes, his gaze locking with Ian's. "You're right. I don't know what the fuck I want."

Ian visibly swallowed and waited.

"All I know is I need to get the fuck away from you," Mickey finished after a short pause, pulling his arm away from Ian's grasp. He left the office, missing the sullen look on Ian's face as he went.

* * *

Later that evening, Mickey found himself in Boystown. He'd gotten high alone in his apartment beforehand, and it didn't take long for him to find someone ready and willing to fuck once he stepped foot inside the club. He barely even caught what the guy looked like under the harsh strobe lights, but the stranger smelled nice and felt good under his hands, so he would do.

The bathroom was dim, smelly, and dingy, but the stall was private and had a lock on the door, and that was good enough for Mickey.

He pressed his forehead to the cold metal door as the stranger sloppily prepared him from behind. He heard the rustle of a condom wrapper opening. He was barely warned as the guy breached and rocked inside him.

"Fuck," Mickey moaned as he tried to get used to the stretch and burn. He squeezed his eyes shut as the man began relentlessly fucking him, obviously intent on only getting his own rocks off, since he didn't seem particularly interested in reaching around to get Mickey off. Mickey rolled his eyes and reached down to do the job himself.

In the back of his weed-addled mind, Mickey couldn't help but think the whole song and dance of finding a nameless, faceless stranger to fuck him in a cold, noisy bathroom was getting a little old. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to settle down, eventually. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go home to someone at night. To care about someone. To have someone care about him.

The stranger hit his prostate at just the right angle, and he decided not to think anymore.

* * *

Two days later, Mickey was working in his cubicle, trying to avoid his boss as much as he possibly could.

Over the past couple of days, his and Ian's relationship had returned to strictly business, with sporadic, work-related conversations and monosyllabic grunts of acknowledgment thrown in here and there.

It was shortly after his lunch break when he heard his name being called. He looked up and frowned when he spotted Svetlana and Yevgeny heading for him. He stood up and immediately huffed when Yev wrapped his arms around his waist in a big bear hug.

"Hey, kiddo. I missed ya," Mickey said before shooting Svetlana a puzzled look. "The hell are you doing here?"

"Yev had dentist appointment down the road. He wanted to stop and see you," Svetlana answered with a noncommittal shrug.

"Is Ian here?" Yevgeny asked as he peered around the work floor in search of Mickey's boss.

Mickey was a little resentful of the fact that he hadn't seen Yev in a couple of weeks and the kid was only interested in seeing Ian. The kid really fucking adored him. "He's in his office."

"Can I see him?" Yev asked, the excitement written all over his adorable face. "I wanna tell him about my new bike that mama and Nika bought me!"

"He's busy, maybe another day."

Yev pouted as Mickey turned his attention back to Svetlana. "Does Nika know you're here? Don't you have to clear it with her first before my kid can see me?"

Svetlana pursed her lips and sent him a look that said 'don't start'.

Just then, the door to Ian's office opened, and Ian appeared. His eyes immediately found Mickey's, and his shoulders slumped a little as soon as Mickey looked away. "Mick, I need you to make a call for me…" His voice trailed off when he spotted Svetlana and Yevgeny. "Oh, hey, guys! Hey, Yev!"

"Ian!" Yev yelled as he raced over to his friend and hugged him around the waist, his too-big bookbag jostling the whole way over. Ian comically pretended to get knocked breathless by the impact. "I went to the dentist! Got my teeth cleaned, see!" He then grinned wide to showcase his pearly whites.

"Oh, wow! So cool!" Ian exclaimed, his thumb on Yevgeny's chin as he pretended to thoroughly inspect the dentist's handiwork, which caused Mickey to smile a little. "That's awesome!"

"Can I see your office?"

Ian looked up at Mickey for confirmation.

Mickey nodded once and scratched at his temple, still trying to tramp down the slight jealousy he felt at their bond.

"He really likes orange boy," Svetlana pointed out as she and Mickey entered his cubicle, away from Wayne's ever-watchful eyes.

Mickey sat down in his swivel chair as Svetlana propped her butt against his messy desk. "Yeah, well, Ian's like a big fuckin' kid himself, so…"

"How are things with you and him?"

"He's my boss, Svet," Mickey answered, shrugging. "That's it."

"That's it?" Svetlana asked, eyebrow arched. "All that touching and flirting and kissing at cabin. Seemed real to me."

"Yeah, well, it was all a fuckin' act," Mickey snapped. "He's back with his ex now, anyway, so." He silently berated himself for even bringing that up. That didn't have anything to do with anything. "Why are you here? Thought you were pissed at me," he continued, desperate to change the subject.

"Yes, well, now I am pissed at Nika," Svetlana said. "She told me what she tell you. I told her that you are Yev's father and, unfortunately, you are not going anywhere."

Mickey laughed, fond of his ex-wife at that moment. "No shit. What did the wench have to say about that?"

Svetlana threw him a pointed look before answering. "She is not happy, but she will come around. My tongue, it is very persuasive." She then wiggled her tongue crudely between her forefinger and middle finger.

"Okay, fuck. I didn't need to see that."

Svetlana laughed and winked.

"Thanks, Svet," Mickey said in all seriousness. "I love that kid, you know that."

"I do know that," Svetlana agreed with an affirmative nod of her head. "Which is why you can have him every other weekend, maybe every weekend after a while. We see how it goes." She pushed away from the desk and playfully rustled his hair. "Come, let's go check on your boys."

"Only got one boy," Mickey murmured as he stood.

"Mhm," Svetlana hummed as they headed for Ian's office.

The sight before him made Mickey simultaneously ache and smile. Yev was sitting in Ian's desk chair, laughing gleefully as Ian spun him around. They both looked so fucking happy.

"Faster!" Yevgeny yelled.

"No, no faster," Svetlana insisted, raining on Yev's parade. "It is time to go. Say goodbye to Ian and your father. They have a lot of work to do."

Mickey pretended as if he didn't catch the double entendre and wink she sent his way. "C'mere, kid. Gimme a hug."

"Can I come see Ian again?"

"Yeah, sure," Mickey said, watching as Ian and Yev high-fived. He caught Ian's eyes for a split moment before bending down to hug Yev. "I love you," he mumbled into Yev's hair. "Be good for your mom."

"Love you too, dad."

"I will call you, set up a time for this weekend, yes?" Svetlana asked.

"Yeah, sounds good." Mickey watched as Svetlana ushered a somber Yev out of Ian's office.

"He really is an awesome kid," Ian said once they were alone, still smiling.

"Yeah, he is."

"Mickey, I—"

"Svetlana said I can see him more," Mickey interjected, ignoring Ian's stare. "Her and Nika hashed it out, and she actually took my side for once. She said I can have him every other weekend, maybe more. It all worked out in the end."

"That's awesome, Mick," Ian said, smiling gently.

"Yeah, so, guess it wasn't all for nothing," Mickey said, finally lifting his eyes to meet Ian's.

Ian looked away, a weird look crossing his face. He ran a hand over his hair and nodded, visibly swallowing. "Yeah. I'm happy for you, Mickey." He then lifted his eyes and smiled faintly. "I really am. You got what you wanted."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed, even though it didn't feel like agreeing much at all.

"I, um, should get back to work," Ian uttered after a long pause. "I have a meeting in about an hour."

"Yeah, okay," Mickey said, turning to head for the door.

"Hey, Mick?" Ian called out.

Mickey looked over his shoulder, waiting.

"I'm happy for you," Ian said with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Really, I am. I'm glad I could help, in whatever small way. I'm glad I was able to do that for you."

Mickey smiled his own faint smile, nodded once, then he left Ian's office.

That was that.

* * *

Things between Ian and Mickey had become civil, normal, tolerable. Mickey showed up to work, they did what they were supposed to do, they talked a little, joked a little, but that was it. They were friends, plain and simple. They had finally found a good middle ground, and things were working out.

That was until about a month later when the new guy started.

The guy's name was Stephan, and his cubicle was right next to Mickey's. The guy was talkative and too smiley, and he always brought Mickey a coffee in the mornings, even though Mickey kept insisting he didn't have to do that.

On that particular day, Stephan was poking his head over Mickey's cubicle, laughing about something he'd seen on the L on his way to work that morning.

Mickey was finding himself laughing along to the story. He'd definitely had his fair share of run-ins with weirdos on the L. The guy really wasn't too bad, Mickey'd decided, despite the first impression. His jokes were a little lame, but he was kind of cute and likable, and Mickey was beginning to appreciate the coffees in the morning. It gave him a little something to look forward to every day, which was kind of nice.

He was in mid-laugh when he looked up to see Ian standing in the doorway to his office, looking anything but amused.

"Uh oh, bossman looks pissed about something," Stephan murmured, obviously feeling comfortable enough to initiate crap-talking about his boss, despite only being on the job for less than a week. He then laughed and leaned over the top of the cubicle, lowering his voice. "Rumor has it, he's gay. Is that true?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Mickey asked as he typed away on his computer, not liking where the conversation was heading.

"Just wondering, Wayne may have mentioned something," Stephan answered. "I know a few guys who are looking for someone. I could set him up. He seems like he needs to get laid."

Mickey suddenly didn't find the guy so endearing anymore. "I think he's seeing someone, so… barking up the wrong fuckin' tree."

"Really?" Stephan asked, looking baffled by that information. "So, he's getting laid on the regular and still acts like that? Wow. Boyfriend must be lousy in the sack."

"Do you mind?" Mickey snapped, suddenly not in the mood to engage with the newcomer. "Don't have time for chitchat. I have work to do."

Stephan smiled, obviously unperturbed by Mickey's snarky attitude. He looked charmed, even.

"Can I see you for a minute, Mickey?" Ian called out over the noise of the office bustle.

Mickey shot Stephan an unamused look as he got up to head to Ian's office. He closed the door and took a seat in his usual chair. He contemplated telling Ian about Stephan's unprofessional commentary but decided against it. It wasn't his place. "What's up?"

"So," Ian began, scratching his cheek, his eyes looking anywhere but at Mickey. "You and the new guy seem to be getting along well."

"Yeah," Mickey shrugged. "He's alright, I guess. Talks a lot, but it's whatever."

"I haven't seen you laugh like that in a while," Ian said, still scratching at his cheek and leaning back in his chair. "You must think he's a little more than alright."

Mickey took in Ian's words and frowned. "Wait, are you jealous because I was talking to the new guy?"

"Jealous?" Ian asked with a bemused laugh. "No, I was just making conversation. It's my job to make sure everyone gets along around here."

"You are," Mickey said, eyebrows arching. "You're jealous of the new guy."

Ian sighed. "I'm not jealous, Mickey. Trust me."

Mickey arched his brows. He definitely didn't want Ian to think anything was going on between him and Stephan, that would make shit weird and awkward again. "Dude's not even gay."

"Oh, trust me. He is."

"How the fuck do you know?"

"Because he stares at your ass every chance he gets."

"He does fuckin' not."

"Why, because you have eyes on the back of your head?"

"No, because I know you're full of shit," Mickey snapped. "He doesn't check out my ass."

Ian smirked. "Look, I'm not having this conversation with you. I called you in here because I don't know if you've noticed, but this is a place of business and—"

"Just admit you're jealous of the new guy."

"Mickey, don't—"

"Admit it—"

"Yes, alright, I'm jealous!" Ian exclaimed. "What the fuck do you want me to say? That it's been almost two months, and I still like you? That I'm not okay with just being friends? That seeing some random asshole making you laugh and bringing you coffee and staring at your ass all day makes me sick? That I hate pretending like I just wanna be your friend?"

Mickey stared back at him, dumbfounded. "The fuck, Ian? I thought…"

"What?" Ian asked, sighing tiredly. "You thought what? That I could magically switch off my feelings for you? You wanted to just be friends, so I'm your friend, if that's what you really want, but you have to know that I wanted more. That I want more. You can't just flirt with some guy right outside of my office and expect me to not give a shit."

Mickey tongued the inside of his cheek before answering, "You like me so much, huh? That why you're still fuckin' your ex?"

"What?" Ian asked, dumbfounded.

"I said," Mickey began through clenched teeth, "Is that why you're still fucking your ex?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I stopped fucking Jared weeks ago," Ian retorted. "For someone who doesn't care, you sure seem to give a lot of shit about who I fuck."

"Are we really back to this?" Mickey asked, standing up. "Look, I'm sorry I won't fuck you, or whatever it is you want, but I—"

"You know what I want, Mickey," Ian murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know I don't want just sex from you."

"Oh, what?" Mickey spat. "Suddenly you're a relationship guy?"

"Yeah, maybe I am!" Ian exclaimed, getting in Mickey's face, surprising him into silence.

Mickey stared back openly, not backing down. He swallowed visibly before saying, "Thought you had to meet the right guy first before you were willing to settle your ass down?"

"Yeah," Ian confirmed. "I did." Silence ensued as he looked at him meaningfully.

Mickey opened his mouth a few times, Ian's silence speaking volumes, but nothing came out.

There was a knock on the door then and Wayne stuck his head in. "Um, hate to interrupt whatever this is, but Mr. Gallagher, you have a call on line two."

"Thanks, Wayne," Ian said, rubbing at his eye. "We're done here, Mickey," he said, his words holding extra meaning. "I don't have anything else to say to you."

"Yeah? Good," Mickey spat before leaving the office. He purposely ignored Wayne's questioning glare.

"You and bossman?" Wayne whispered under his breath as he followed Mickey back to his cubicle. "Is something going on with the two of you?" When Mickey remained silent, he exclaimed, "Oh em gee! Tell me everything!"

"Nothing to fuckin' tell," Mickey muttered bitterly, his heart thundering in his chest.

What the fuck gave Ian the right to dump all that shit on him out of nowhere? They were friends. They were finally building a stable friendship, and everything was going back to normal. Then Ian had to tell Mickey that he still had feelings for him, that he wanted a relationship with him.

Mickey was pissed the fuck off.

But also… he wasn't.

He slowly sat down in his chair, tuning out Wayne's incessant babbling. His face felt hot, and his heart raced heavily in his chest. He let out a bewildered laugh, silencing Wayne.

"What's so funny?" Wayne asked. When he didn't get an answer, he snapped his fingers in Mickey's face. "Hello? I see nothing funny about this. Why aren't you telling me anything?"

"Fuck," Mickey uttered. He felt delirious. Confused. Happy? Definitely confused.

"Okay, you either need to tell me right the hell now what's going on with you and our boss or so help me God, I'll—"

Mickey stood up, stopping Wayne mid-rant, and marched right back to Ian's office. He closed the door behind himself, causing Ian to look up.

Ian stared back at him blankly, his phone still up to his ear. "I'm gonna have to call you back." He hung up the phone and stood up as Mickey took a few steps forward. "What do you want, Mickey?"

Mickey stared back, breathing through his nose, his chest rising and falling steadily.

"Be honest this time," Ian said after a beat, his voice soft.

"Are you really not fucking Jared anymore?"

"Yeah, I'm really not fucking Jared anymore," Ian said as he watched Mickey walk closer. "I stopped fucking him a few days after you stopped by that night to talk about Nika."

"You really want me?" Mickey asked, stopping inches from Ian. He reached out and grabbed the knot of Ian's tie, pulling him in a little closer.

Ian went willingly and visibly swallowed. "You know I do." He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Mickey's. "I fuckin' want you, Mickey."

Mickey cursed under his breath and rocked his forehead a little against Ian's.

"For so long," Ian murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of Mickey's neck, right beneath his ear. "Want you."

"Fuck," Mickey breathed as Ian continued pressing soft, moist kisses along his pulse point.

"Your heart is racing," Ian murmured against his skin.

Mickey gripped the knot of Ian's tie a little tighter, then slid his hand along the collar of his shirt and around to grip the nape of his neck.

Ian pulled back a little to look him in the eyes.

"I'm not looking for anything serious. Not ready for all that," Mickey said, his eyes dropping to Ian's lips. "I wanna take it slow, but fuck, I want you too. I don't wanna fuckin' deny it anymore."

Ian leaned in the last few inches and ghosted his lips over Mickey's. "So, what're you thinking?"

"Friends," Mickey murmured. "With benefits?"

"Benefits, huh?" Ian said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm good with benefits."

"The benefits are one of the main reasons why I took the job," Mickey flirted.

Ian grinned and leaned in.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Ian and Mickey jumped apart as the door opened. Wayne poked his head in.

"Fuckin' Wayne," Mickey murmured, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face.

"There's a call on line three, a mister Anderson?"

"Alright, who's the fuckin' assistant here, huh?" Mickey retorted, glaring at Wayne. "Get the fuck outta here."

"Maybe if you were doing your job instead of your boss," Wayne grumbled under his breath as he turned to go.

"I should get that," Ian said, nodding towards his phone. He then cleared his throat as he fixed his askew tie. "Dinner, my place? Tonight? We can iron out the details?"

Mickey nodded, his heart once again thundering in his chest. "Yeah, sounds good."

Ian smiled gently before picking up the phone.

Mickey left the office to find Wayne standing right outside the door. He shot him a look as Wayne comically jumped out of the way before following him.

"Thought you hated the guy."

"Thought wrong."

"Just so you know," Wayne cooed. "I'm cockblocking you whenever I can until I get all the deets."

"There are no fuckin' deets to know," Mickey said as he headed towards his cubicle.

The small smile remained on his face the rest of the day. He couldn't wait to see exactly what benefits his boss had to offer.


	6. Chapter 6

On the entire way to Ian's place that night, Mickey had been pretty set in his decision to start a friends-with-benefits deal with his boss. His boss was hot, ready, and willing, and he was sick of pretending he didn't want him. He was fully intent on getting his rocks off a few times, maybe fucking Ian out of his system once and for all, and then moving on.

As he put his Jeep in park and stared up at Ian's apartment building, the apprehension finally began to set in. Could it really work? Could he really hit it and quit it, when the person he was hitting and quitting was his boss? Could they really be adults about it? Could they really keep it simple and casual?

After the doorman had allowed him to enter with no fuss—apparently already expecting him—he got on the elevator and headed to the 17th floor. That was the precise moment when he was pretty fucking sure he was making a really terrible mistake. There was no way in hell that any of it could end well.

Once he reached Ian's floor, he hesitated outside his door, moments away from turning the fuck around. He was about to enter a friends-with-benefits deal with his boss. Nothing good could come of it. Whatever Ian was supposedly feeling, whatever he was feeling, it couldn't last, right? There was inevitably going to be a huge, ugly, irrevocable fallout. He would still have to show up to work every day when it all turned to shit.

Still, he took a deep breath, knocked on the door, smelled his armpit for good measure, and looked up mid-sniff when Ian answered the door.

Ian smiled, clearly amused by catching Mickey smelling his pit. "Hey, you're early."

Mickey lowered his arm and took in the sight of his boss. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He looked fresh from a shower. Fuck, he looked good. Suddenly, Mickey didn't feel so unsure about the whole thing.

"I was wondering if you'd show up," Ian continued when Mickey didn't say anything. He then hung his head a little and scratched the back of his neck, looking a little bashful in the moment. "Was hopin' you would."

Mickey had to do everything he could to keep his hands to himself. "Said I'd be here."

Ian looked up and shrugged a little. "Thought maybe you'd change your mind."

Mickey remained silent, his eyes downcast as he rubbed the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly why Ian would think such things, and it kind of made him hate himself a little.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Ian said, "Oh! You can come in, sorry. My neighbor across the hall is nosy as fuck, so better take this inside."

"Thanks," Mickey said, stepping inside, his heartbeat catching a little when his arm brushed against Ian's.

"You hungry?" Ian asked after closing the door.

"I could eat."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Uh, pizza sounds good."

"You're so easy," Ian said, grinning. "You want something to drink? I have milk, coffee, and beer. Oh, and I have juice!"

"Beer's good," Mickey answered as he stood awkwardly near the door, thinking not for the first time how fucking weird it was that he was showing up at his boss's fancy North Side apartment for a booty call. But damn if that booty didn't look good.

Ian turned to fetch Mickey's drink, glancing over his shoulder and catching Mickey looking at his ass in the process. "Like what you see?"

Mickey thumbed at his lower lip, feeling his face get hot. Fuck it. They both knew why he was there, no reason to be timid. No reason to hide behind small talk.

"Yeah, I like what I see. I've always liked what I saw, I just didn't like the douchebag under the awesome fuckin' package." He then clicked his tongue at Ian's slightly pained expression and walked over to where Ian was standing. "Ey, cut that shit out," he said, grabbing the hem of Ian's shirt and tugging him a little closer. He was getting sick of keeping his hands to himself. "You know I see the real you now."

Ian stepped closer until his body was flush against Mickey's. He visibly swallowed as he slid his right hand up Mickey's chest and over his shoulder to grip the nape of his neck. "Yeah? The real me, huh?"

"Yeah," Mickey murmured right before leaning in and kissing him. "I see you."

Ian moaned in the back of his throat as they kissed slowly, tentatively, getting reacclimated with each other's mouths. He dug his fingers into Mickey's perfectly coiffed hair, tugging gently, licking the seam of Mickey's lips, and groaning in satisfaction when their tongues touched.

Mickey angled his head and deepened the kiss, the fingertips of his right hand sneaking up under the hem of Ian's shirt and grazing over the warm skin of his taut lower stomach. He then ran his hand all the way up under Ian's shirt, hinting for him to remove it. He was eager to skip the bullshit and get to the good shit.

Ian reached behind his head and removed his shirt quickly, tossing the garment away, before diving back in for another kiss, his entire hand cradling the back of Mickey's head. Apparently, he was sick of waiting too.

"Want you," Mickey muttered near Ian's ear when Ian broke the kiss and began lightly nipping at his jaw. He reached between them and fumbled with Ian's belt buckle. "Don't wanna fuckin' wait anymore."

Ian grabbed his hips and walked backward until they reached the couch. He sat down, pulling an eager Mickey with him.

Mickey straddled him, all the doubts he'd been having before arriving completely thrown out the window as Ian kissed him, their tongues tangling and their mouths moving like a wave, their bodies rocking back and forth as they ground against each other through their clothes.

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian groaned when Mickey pulled away to nip at his neck. He ran a hand up his back and gripped the back of Mickey's head. "Your fucking mouth."

"My mouth, huh?" Mickey asked, pulling back.

Ian grinned at the sight. Mickey's hair was already a mess, his lips already swollen, his pupils completely blown. If Mickey got that hot and heavy just making out, Ian couldn't wait to see how hot he was when they actually fucked.

"Something else I've been wanting to do with my mouth," Mickey murmured as he climbed off Ian's lap and sank to his knees. He flattened his palms against Ian's thighs and slowly ran his hands up until his fingers reached his belt. He undid the belt and maintained eye contact as he popped Ian's button open and slid down his zipper.

Ian rested his head back and closed his eyes, sighing when Mickey removed his cock and stroked it. "I can't look at you while you do that, I'm gonna shoot my load before we even start."

"Better fuckin' not," Mickey teased as he tested Ian's weight and length in his hand. He slowly stroked him to full hardness, his mouth slightly watering at the sight. He hadn't allowed himself to get a proper look before when they had showered together at the cabin. It was the first time he was seeing Ian fully hard. "Fuck, man, I knew your dick would be perfect."

Ian lifted his head and locked eyes with Mickey, no longer in a teasing mood. He swallowed visibly, reached out and feathered his fingertips over Mickey's cheek, the moment turning serious.

"Do I have your consent to suck your dick?" Mickey asked with a smirk, purposely breaking the intense moment.

"Does it look like you need my consent?" Ian breathed. He then gasped when Mickey leaned forward and flattened his tongue against the head of his dick. "Shit, Mickey."

Mickey moaned deep in his throat and continued running his hands up and down Ian's thighs, and he took the head in his mouth. With his tongue flat and his cheeks hollowed, he swallowed as much of Ian's dick as he could, testing his limit. He couldn't take the entire length, but the length he could take, he went to town on. Straightening up on his knees and angling his head better, he bobbed up and down on Ian's dick, choking a little every time the head hit the back of his throat.

"Feels so good," Ian moaned, his hand steady on the nape of Mickey's neck. He reached down with his other hand and wrapped it lightly around Mickey's neck, feeling his cock every time it entered Mickey's throat. "Shit."

Mickey eventually pulled away from Ian's dick to pant for air, a string of saliva bridging between Mickey's mouth and the tip. "Fuck, man, I love your cock. Had I known you were packing this, I woulda sucked your dick sooner."

Ian chuckled and carded his hand through Mickey's damp hair. "If I woulda known you have an awesome gag reflex, I woulda asked you to suck it sooner."

"Lift up," Mickey breathed, patting Ian's hip and sitting back on his haunches. "Take your fuckin' pants off."

Ian wasted no time. He lifted his hips and removed his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop before settling back on the couch and spreading his legs, giving Mickey more room to work.

Mickey licked his swollen lips before going back in. He gripped Ian's cock and licked it from base to tip slowly before engulfing him again. He fondled Ian's balls in his right hand, rolling them back and forth and applying enough pressure to have him whining and panting and begging for more.

"Mick," Ian babbled, his breathing erratic, his hands in Mickey's hair. "Gotta stop or I'm not gonna last."

Mickey pulled away from his dick to mouth at his balls as he slowly stroked Ian's dick with his hand. He pulled each ball into his mouth, moaning as he sucked them. Fuck, he was horny. He loved the noises Ian was making, and he didn't want to stop, but he knew he had to if he wanted to get to the main event. He needed that cock in him. He reluctantly pulled away and stood up on wobbly legs. As they maintained intense eye contact, he undid his own pants and stepped out of them. He then removed his shirt and tossed it over his shoulder, not caring where the garment landed.

"You're so hot," Ian breathed as he lazily stroked his cock and watched Mickey undress.

"Want you to fuck me," Mickey said as he slowly stroked his own dick, rounding his palm over the tip with every upstroke.

"You sure?" Ian asked breathlessly. "I want you to be really sure, Mickey. I don't wanna jump into something here without you being a hundred percent sure about it."

Mickey hesitated for only a moment before walking over to him and climbing back into his lap. They were both naked, their cocks rubbing and catching deliciously between them. "Does it look like you need to ask me if I'm sure?" he murmured. He leaned in and playfully bit Ian's bottom lip, pulling back and laughing when Ian's mouth chased his. He gave in and moaned when their mouths latched and the kiss deepened.

Ian's hands were smoothing down his bare back, and were then on Mickey's ass, grabbing handfuls and pulling his cheeks apart. "Mm, can't wait to get inside this ass."

"Yeah?" Mickey breathed and swore under his breath when Ian's dry finger rubbed softly over his hole.

Ian pressed his forehead to Mickey's, and they breathed in each other's air as he continued lightly rubbing circles around Mickey's asshole with his middle finger. "So fuckin' tight, I can already tell."

"Fuck, Ian."

Ian laughed breathlessly before putting that same finger into his mouth.

Mickey pulled back a little and watched him suck on the finger salaciously, already knowing where Ian was going with it. He reached up and grabbed Ian's wrist, keeping eye contact before slowly taking Ian's finger into his own mouth and sucking on the digit himself. He then guided Ian's hand behind him and gasped when Ian's wet finger shallowly dipped inside him. "Fuck." He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Ian's again, unable to keep eye contact any longer, with just the tip of Ian's finger shallowly fucking him.

"Don't know how much longer I can hold out," Ian breathed.

"You got condoms and lube?" Mickey asked, breathless. "Please tell me you got fuckin' condoms and lube."

"What kinda friend with benefits would I be if I didn't have condoms and lube around?" Ian joked. "I can't move right now, my legs are like jello. The stuff is in my bedroom, bottom drawer on the left."

Mickey clambered off him and headed into Ian's room. The room was dark, so it took him a minute to locate the stuff. He eyed the king-sized bed in the corner and chewed on his lower lip, wondering if they should move to the bedroom. When he re-entered the living room, he paused in the doorway and took in the sight before him.

Ian was fucking beautiful, sitting naked on the couch, his cock hard, and his face completely earnest as he stared back at Mickey, looking as if he was waiting for him to back out.

Mickey hesitated for only a moment. He walked to the couch and dropped the sleeve of condoms and a bottle of lube next to Ian. He climbed back onto his lap and leaned in for a kiss, swallowing something Ian had been about to say. That time, the kiss was slow and searching and passionate. He didn't know exactly what had come over him, just that he was feeling a lot of emotions at the moment; emotions he had no idea how to decipher.

Ian moaned into the kiss and ran a hand up Mickey's back to dig his hand in his hair, which seemed to be a new habit of his.

As they kissed, Mickey blindly reached for the condoms and opened one, never once breaking the lazy kiss. He rolled the condom on Ian's dick and slapped around for the lube until he found it. He blindly drizzled the lube over Ian's cock and laughed when Ian broke free from the kiss to stare down at the mess Mickey was making on his lap.

"What?" Mickey asked, a grin on his face. "Like we're not gonna be a fuckin' mess after this, anyway?"

Ian dove in for another kiss as Mickey stroked him, getting him nice and ready.

Still not breaking the biting, playful kiss, Mickey reached back and pushed a slick finger inside himself.

"Fuck, that's so hot," Ian mumbled against Mickey's mouth as he fucked himself with a second finger.

"Yeah?" When Ian nodded, he added, "Maybe I'll let you prepare me next time. Right now, I just wanna get that cock in me." He pulled his hand away and maneuvered himself up enough so he could get Ian's cock under him. With their eyes locked, he lowered himself and rubbed the tip of Ian's head slowly between his cheeks. "Fuck…"

"Mick," Ian breathed, resting his head back on the couch, his hands gripping Mickey's hips. "Come on, do it. Need to…"

Mickey allowed Ian's cock to breach him, and he slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch rolling his hips and adjusting until Ian's cock was buried to the hilt. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against Ian's forehead and wrapped his arms around his neck, making sure there was no space left between them. "Holy fuckin' Christ."

"Didn't take you for the religious type," Ian teased through his heavy breathing. He laughed airily, then moaned when Mickey clenched around him. "You feel fucking fantastic."

Mickey gripped Ian's shoulders and pulled himself slowly upwards on Ian's cock, clenching deliciously the entire time, before sinking back down, causing them both to shudder. "Gonna ride this fucking cock."

"Yeah," Ian breathed. "Yes, please do that."

"Have I ever mentioned how fucking lame you are?" Mickey panted as he started riding him at a slow, steady pace, holding onto Ian's shoulders for leverage the whole time. "Fuck what I said," he stuttered after a few thrusts. "I don't give a shit how lame you are with a dick like this."

Ian's eyes were hooded as he stared up at him, his hands rubbing up and down Mickey's bare back, occasionally dipping lower to grip Mickey's ass as he rode him. He looked down and watched as Mickey's cock bobbed and bounced between them. He wrapped his right hand around Mickey's cock and stroked him. He smiled a little through his desire when Mickey groaned at the sensation.

"Fuck, yeah. Keep doing that," Mickey demanded. He quickened his pace, riding him into the couch as Ian continued jerking him off at the same pace, his hand working tight and fast enough to make his toes curl. "Not gonna last long at all."

"I'm almost there too," Ian murmured as he thrust up to meet Mickey's downward thrust. He hit Mickey's prostate dead-on, judging by the whimper Mickey let out and the way his fingers dug into Ian's shoulders.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," Mickey warned, his voice completely fucking wrecked.

"Hold on," Ian said frantically, but he was too late. Warm ribbons of Mickey's come painted Ian's chest and abs. "Fuck, that's so hot," he cried out, feeling his own orgasm nearing. Without warning, he wrapped an arm around Mickey's waist and flipped them on the couch so Mickey was on his back and Ian was on top, between his legs. He leaned down and caught Mickey's lips in a hard kiss, and he fucked into him relentlessly, causing Mickey to gasp and whimper and stutter into his mouth, still overly sensitive from his own orgasm.

"Fuck, yeah. Come on me," Mickey breathed when Ian pulled back from the kiss. "Come on me. Want your fuckin' come."

"Shit," Ian spat before pulling out of Mickey and removing the condom with shaky fingers. He came all over Mickey's stomach after a few strokes, the stream almost reaching his chin. "Fuck!"

Once Ian was finished, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against Mickey's. They didn't really kiss, so much as they opened their mouths to each other, breathing each other's air as they tried to catch their breaths.

Mickey snuck his tongue into Ian's mouth after a few moments and licked playfully at Ian's tongue before reaching around and slapping his bare ass. "Alright, get the fuck up. I can't breathe."

"I can't move," Ian groused against Mickey's shoulder. "Gimme a few minutes."

Mickey chuckled as he carded his fingers through Ian's damp hair. He then pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Ian's head. That was when reality came crashing back in. It was time for him to go. There was no reason for him to stick around to cuddle and bask in the afterglow. "Get up," he said again, a little sterner that time.

Ian sighed and reluctantly moved away from him to sit back against the couch.

Mickey stood up and walked over to where his pants and boxers were lying on the floor. The entire time he was getting dressed, he could feel Ian watching him. "Stop being creepy."

"I just wrecked that ass," Ian gloated. "I think I'm allowed to admire it a little."

Mickey guffawed and tossed a look at Ian over his shoulder. "You didn't wreck anything, Copperhead. I'm the one who had your ass near tears."

Ian smirked as he stood up, looking wrecked and sweaty and completely fucking beautiful as he stopped inches away from Mickey. "We're really fuckin' great together," he said, a small smile on his face, his eyes searching Mickey's. "Admit it, just this once."

Mickey had to look away from the intense stare. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and swallowed thickly before saying, "Yeah, it was good. It was fucking awesome, but that's all this is, right? Sex? Friends with benefits? We shouldn't have let it get that far," he finished, referring to the excessive (and slow) kissing, and the strong and sudden urge he'd had at the end to cuddle with Ian.

"So, that's what this was, then?" Ian asked, his tone measured. "A booty call?"

Mickey pulled his shirt on to stall for a few moments before asking, "What else did you think it was? Thought we were clear on what it was."

"Yeah. Just making sure," Ian muttered. He raked a hand through his damp, disheveled hair and looked around for his own pants. "You, uh, you wanna stick around for a drink? Maybe watch a movie? It's still early. Got the benefits part out of the way, might as well do the whole friends thing too."

Mickey tongued the inside of his cheek and thought about it. He knew he really shouldn't stay; he knew that he should leave it as it was, a booty call. He should call it a night, go the fuck home, and act nonchalant about it all when he saw Ian the next day. Instead, he said, "Yeah, a beer sounds good."

Ian smiled softly with a curt nod of his head before heading to the kitchen to retrieve their drinks.

Mickey finished getting dressed and sat down on the couch, only then remembering that he and Ian both had come all over themselves. He really didn't want to sit down to watch a two-hour movie with come all over himself. There was really only one solution. He rubbed his lower lip as Ian re-entered the room.

"All I have is Yuengling," Ian announced. "I hope that's okay. Haven't had time to go to the store."

"Yeah, uh, that's cool," Mickey said, watching as Ian sat down next to him.

Ian smiled at him before reaching for the remote. "What do you wanna watch? I got some old school Van Damme, can't go wrong with that. Have you seen that new movie with the Rock? Looks pretty decent."

Mickey watched him out of the corner of his eye, contemplating if he should even ask what he was thinking about asking. The chance to see Ian naked again helped with his final decision. "We're both gross," he started, taking in Ian's surprised expression when he looked at him. "We have jizz all over us. We should shower or something before we watch a movie, don't you fuckin' think?"

"Okay, yeah," Ian said, nodding. "You can go first. There are towels in the linen closet next to the bathroom."

Mickey smirked and gave him a pointed look.

Ian looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened when realization set in. "Oh! You want us to shower together?"

Mickey arched his brows and gave him a 'there you go, Einstein' look. He then stood up and removed his shirt again, never once breaking eye contact. He figured they might as well go again since he was there. No harm, no foul.

Ian shot to his feet and followed him to the bathroom.

"Put the beers back in the fridge," Mickey called out over his shoulder. "Don't want 'em to get warm. We might be a while."

Ian quickly put the beers back in the fridge, hurriedly undressed, and joined Mickey in the shower, where that time he got a chance to show Mickey what his mouth could do. He'd made Mickey a blubbering, moaning mess by the end and, when he shot his load down Ian's throat, his hands clenched tight in his hair, Ian happily swallowed everything Mickey gave him.

* * *

After their shower, which lasted until well after the water had turned cold, Mickey and Ian reclaimed their places on the couch and popped in a random action movie.

Mickey found that Ian talked a lot throughout the movie, pointing out stuff Mickey had already seen or knew. Even though it should have annoyed the fuck out of him—would have annoyed the fuck out of him had it been anyone else—he found that it didn't annoy him, not even a little bit. If anything, he found himself laughing and listening raptly to everything Ian had to say. The whole thing was kind of endearing, which irritated him. Ian didn't irritate him; Mickey irritated himself.

He looked up when Ian paused the movie out of nowhere and stood up. "What the fuck? We were just getting to the good shit."

"I need another beer. You want one?"

"Yeah, sure. I could use another beer," Mickey said, watching as Ian headed for the kitchen. His eyes dropped to Ian's ass, and he allowed himself a lingering look.

Ian returned with their beers and sat down, placing the bottles on the coffee table in front of them. "Hey, um, can I ask you something?"

Mickey's heart sped up, hating those words. He knew whatever it was Ian was planning on asking, he would have a hard time answering considering everything was still so confusing between them.

"Admit to me one thing," Ian continued as they both leaned forward to reach for their beers, "And I won't bring it up again."

"Just fuckin' ask me," Mickey snapped, figuring he owed Ian at least that much. "You get one question, that's it."

Ian took a long sip of his beer before licking his lips and asking, "That night you stopped by and Jared was here. You were jealous, right? I wasn't just imagining it?"

"I'm not answering that," Mickey spat after a beat, his cheeks turning a little pink.

"Oh, that's answer enough," Ian said with a cheeky grin. He then looked away, smiling against the mouth of his bottle. "Don't think I've ever seen you blush before. It's cute."

"I'm not blushin', asshole."

"Uh huh."

Mickey smirked and took another sip of his beer, stewing in his embarrassment.

"You were totally dropping by that night to fuck, weren't you?"

Mickey remained quiet for a handful of seconds before saying, "Watch the fuckin' movie."

Ian laughed and settled into the cushions as he lifted the remote to restart the movie.

Mickey sipped his beer and sent Ian a sidelong glance, his small smile hidden behind the mouth of his beer bottle.

When Ian fell asleep halfway through the movie, his cheek pressed adorably against Mickey's upper arm, he made no move to shake him awake, telling himself it was only because he didn't want Ian talking throughout the entire movie, when really it was because he absolutely did not mind having Ian so close. So, he watched the rest of the movie, every so often looking down at a sleeping Ian, a soft smile on his face.

He knew he was in trouble. He was turning fucking soft for his boss. He knew if he didn't get a grip soon, he'd be in even deeper shit than he already was. He knew he had to put an expiration date on the whole thing before things spiraled out of control.

* * *

The next day at work, Mickey hesitated outside Ian's office, his heart racing in his chest.

He'd left Ian's apartment late the night before. After the movie had ended, Mickey had reluctantly shaken Ian awake to tell him he had to go. Ian had then walked him to the door, where they shared an awkward goodbye and parted ways.

Mickey had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to say to Ian. How was he supposed to walk in there and act normal when his ass was still deliciously sore from Ian's cock? How was he supposed to go about his normal workday when all he could think about was how good Ian's mouth felt on his dick?

"You waiting for an invitation?"

Mickey scowled at the sound of Wayne's voice. "Fuck off."

"You needn't be worried," Wayne said, smirking a little. "Bossman is in a good mood today. Came in with a big-ass smile on his face. Has a little glow about him too. Must've gotten some good dick last night. Finally." Wayne then hesitated before saying, "Unless it was your dick?"

Mickey tried to keep his face in check, not wanting to give away the satisfaction he felt because of Wayne's words. "I told you, nothing is going on with me and him. He's my boss."

Wayne smirked. "Mm. Either way, whatever is putting him in a good mood, I hope it lasts. I need three days off next month, and I need him buttered up. If that means someone has to be butt-up, then so be it."

Mickey watched as Wayne walked away before looking back at Ian's door. The fact that Wayne said Ian was in a good mood was the motivation Mickey needed to go in. He knocked once before stepping inside.

Ian was sitting at his desk as per usual. He looked up and smiled a little when he saw Mickey. "Hey."

Mickey stepped fully into the office and pulled the door shut behind him. "Hey."

Ian stood up and smoothed his tie as he walked around his desk.

"No comment about me being late, huh?" Mickey joked, no longer feeling nervous.

"It's okay," Ian answered with a shrug. "I know you had a late night last night."

Mickey smiled a little and scratched the tip of his nose with his thumbnail.

"Heard some really hot redhead rocked your world."

"Eh. He was alright," Mickey deadpanned as Ian walked even closer. "I've had better."

Ian was standing directly in front of Mickey then, his lip quirked. "Better, huh? Well, that sucks."

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip as he lifted his eyes to meet Ian's.

Ian smiled a little wider before he leaned in to kiss Mickey sweetly on the mouth.

Mickey couldn't help it; he groaned deep in his throat and reached up to grip the back of Ian's neck as the kiss quickly intensified.

Ian pulled back after a bit to breathe. "Do we need to talk about what happened last night?"

"Nah, I'm good," Mickey grumbled, eyeing the desk over Ian's shoulder. He wondered how difficult it would be to fuck on it. "Don't need to talk about anything. We're just havin' fun, right? Two grown-ass men using each other to get off?"

Ian nodded, the look of disappointment on his face going overlooked while Mickey's attention was averted.

"How sturdy do you think your desk is?"

Ian looked over his shoulder at his desk, looking a little confused at first. He then looked back at Mickey when it dawned on him, his lip quirked. "I know what you're thinking, but it's a really bad idea."

"Is it, though?" Mickey asked, reaching up to grip the collar of Ian's button-down shirt.

Ian groaned and leaned back in to tap his forehead to Mickey's. "I'm really gonna regret saying this, but I don't really think we should fuck in my office. Don't think that's a line we should cross. We can meet tonight, my place?"

Mickey nodded reluctantly and used everything in himself to not reach out when Ian pulled away.

It was going to be a long-ass fucking day.

* * *

A few nights later, Mickey walked up the steps to Svetlana and Nika's front porch and hesitated before knocking. He knew there was a good chance that Nika would answer the door. He hadn't seen nor heard from the bitch since their heated phone conversation a month before, and he would be perfectly content with never seeing her again.

Luckily, Svetlana answered the door. He knew, though, that he probably wouldn't be so lucky next time. He knew that he and Nika would have to eventually squash their beef, if only for Yevgeny's sake, but it wouldn't be that day, and it wouldn't be anytime soon.

"You are early," Svetlana chastised.

"By five minutes," Mickey shot back. Seriously, could he do anything right?

Svetlana smirked and allowed him to enter. As always, the house was clean and airy and smelled like lemons. Once again, Mickey was happy that his son got to grow up in a house that was quite the opposite of the house he'd grown up in. "Yevgeny is upstairs, packing his bag. He is excited, could not stop talking about spending the night at your place."

Mickey hesitantly stepped inside, keeping his eyes peeled and ears perked for any sign of Nika.

Svetlana sighed, already knowing what he was thinking. "Nika is not here, you can unclench ass now."

"Her night to pass out free handy-jays down at the Alibi?"

"Do not start," Svetlana warned. "You know she does not do that anymore. Besides, she knew you were coming, did not want to be here to see your ugly mug."

"Ugly mug, my ass," Mickey snarled. "Bitch can't deny I'm pretty."

"Oh, but she does," Svetlana replied. "Says you look like the back of horse's ass."

Mickey sneered and waved a dismissive hand, not wanting to talk about Nika.

"So," Svetlana began. "How are things with you and orange boy? You have hickey on your neck, is it from him?"

Mickey's hand immediately flew up to cover the offensive mark, having forgotten it was there. "Fuck." He was going to kill Ian later for marking him up… right after they fucked, of course. "If you must fuckin' know, it's from Ian, alright?"

"So, I was right about you and him?"

"I don't know," Mickey retorted, defensive. "Maybe. We're just fuckin' around. Been to his place a few times and banged. Don't really feel like talkin' about it."

"You like him?" Svetlana asked after she assessed his reaction, her tone uncharacteristically soft that time. "For real this time?"

"Yeah, I guess," Mickey answered after a small hesitation. There was no point in denying it anymore. He'd denied it long enough. "Like I said, don't wanna talk about it."

"I am not surprised," Svetlana added. "You get look in your eye when he is around."

"What fuckin' look?"

"You know the look."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Mickey muttered, pretty unconvincingly.

Svetlana smiled. She was about to open her mouth to say something else when Yevgeny came bounding down the stairs.

"Dad!"

Mickey grinned and caught his running son with a huff. "Fuck, you're getting big."

"No, you are just freakishly small," Svetlana quipped.

Mickey shot her a look, but then sighed when she smiled again. As long as Svetlana kept smiling and allowed him to see his son, he guessed it was worth it to allow her to throw a few cheap shots at him every now and then.

* * *

Mickey didn't know how he'd ended up there, but he found himself at a bar on a Wednesday night. One minute he was at home relaxing in flannel pajama pants, about to catch up on his shows when Ian texted him asking if he wanted to go get a few drinks. Next thing he knew, he was dressed in nice jeans and a decent shirt, wearing a little cologne, and sitting at the bar of a place called the fucking Ramrod.

"Surprised you actually came," Ian said with a grin as he sipped his whiskey sour. "Didn't think you would."

"Had shit else to do," Mickey replied against his glass. He looked at Ian and once again sized him up. The fucker looked good. Too good. "What's the occasion?"

Ian shrugged. "No occasion. I just wanted to see ya."

Mickey looked away, the implication of Ian's words getting to him. Sounded a little too serious for his liking. To break the awkward moment, he said, "Wanna play a game of pool?"

Ian grinned. "I'm game." As they stood up, taking their drinks with them, he said, "Just letting you know, I'm not goin' easy on you."

"Fuck off, gingerbread," Mickey quipped. "You talk a lot of shit for someone who sucks balls."

"I'll suck your balls later," Ian shot back. "For now, I'm gonna kick your ass at pool."

Mickey snorted into his beer mug and watched as Ian racked the balls. "Keep dreamin', Opie." He averted his eyes to take in the sight of Ian's ass as he was bent over.

"Might wanna pay attention to the game instead of staring at my ass," Ian said, without even looking.

"What ass?"

Ian smirked at him over his shoulder. "You break."

Mickey set his beer down and grabbed his cue stick. He chalked the tip of his stick suggestively while staring at Ian the whole time, his brow arched cockily. "You okay there, Red? Lookin' a little flushed over there."

"Just take your shot," Ian said, his voice a little rough around the edges.

Mickey smirked and bent down to line up his shot. He nearly choked when he felt Ian pressing up against him from behind. "You wanna back the hell up, asshole?"

"Sorry, am I distracting you?"

Mickey turned around so that he was chest to chest with him. He stared at Ian's quirked lip before looking up into his eyes. He gnawed his bottom lip and arched his brows. "You wanna play dirty, huh?"

Ian shrugged a shoulder, smirk still in place. "Thought you liked it dirty?"

Mickey's eyebrows shot up even higher, and he turned back around. He bent over, pressing his ass firmly against Ian's crotch. He slid the cue stick back and forth through his arched finger slowly. He then gasped when Ian reached around, lightly palming him through his pants. In the process, his cue stick shot forward, and the balls went scattering by accident. None of the balls went into the pockets.

"My turn."

"You're a dick," Mickey grumbled. He then stood back and watched as Ian bent to line up his own shot. He stepped forward and slowly ran his hand down Ian's lower back and cupped his ass.

"Shit," Ian said as he completely missed the cue ball with his stick.

"I take it the fuck back," Mickey muttered. "You do have an ass. It's small, but it's there."

Ian turned so he was face to face with him. "Didn't take you for an ass man." He smirked and reached out to hook a finger into the waistband of Mickey's jeans, tugging him closer.

"Ey, just 'cause I love cock doesn't mean I can't appreciate a nice ass."

"Mm, no one appreciates an ass like me, though. Luckily for me, the guy I'm fucking has the best one." Just as Ian was leaning in to kiss him, a gruff voice interrupted them.

"Hey, you two gonna play some pool anytime soon, or are you gonna spend the entire time performing foreplay?" the stranger groused. "Other people wanna use the table, dickheads!"

Mickey and Ian broke into laughter before handing off their cue sticks. They made their way back to the bar where they each ordered another drink.

"You're fuckin' embarrassing, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm embarrassing?" Ian exclaimed, his eyes dancing. "You gave as good as you got back there."

Mickey took a gulp of his beer, his eyes on Ian over the rim of his mug. He then burst into laughter at Ian's comical expression, spraying beer everywhere.

Ian howled, clutching his side as he laughed.

Mickey laughed with him, knowing they probably looked like complete assholes to the people around them throwing them dirty looks. He knew he and Ian were being completely fucking annoying, but he couldn't help it. He was having a good time, laughing and drinking and joking around with Ian. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much.

It was turning out to be a pretty good night.

* * *

A few shots apiece later and Mickey was feeling good.

"Glad I came out, man," he slurred a little as he glanced around the crowded bar. "This place isn't too bad. The asshole who keeps playin' Careless Whisper on the jukebox needs to go, though."

"I'm really glad you came out too." Ian beamed, feeling a little lightheaded himself, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. "I like being around you, even outside the bedroom." He said the last part of that statement emphatically, his tone playful.

Mickey stared back at him, the moment suddenly turning serious. He quickly looked away and swallowed hard when Ian's fond expression caused his heart to flip.

The smile slipped off Ian's face, almost as if he knew he'd fucked up.

"You know," Mickey slurred as he glanced around, deciding the intense moment needed to be broken. He crudely burped before saying, "The dudes here ain't bad to look at, either. Should come here more often. Could probably have any fucker I wanted in this place."

Ian looked up quickly when Mickey's words registered. He waited for a beat before saying, glumly, "Any guy you want, huh?"

"Fuck, yeah, I can. Can get the hottest fucker in this joint, easy," Mickey said, his eyes surveying the crowd around them. "One of the benefits of being single, man. No strings attached. That's why I like the shit we got goin' on between us. We both know where we stand."

"Know where we both stand, huh?" Ian asked after a slight hesitation, his good mood completely gone.

Mickey sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he kept glancing around.

Ian watched him, the hurt he felt at Mickey's words playing on his face and going unseen. After a few moments, he pursed his lips and nodded a little before standing up. He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and tossed a few crumpled bills on the bar to cover his drinks and grabbed his coat. "Hey, I should get going. It's getting late. Got an early start tomorrow."

"The fuck're you goin'?" Mickey asked, finally looking at him, his brows furrowed. "Stay for one more. I was about to buy another round."

"I'm tired, had a long day," Ian said, hesitating a little before leaning in to brush his lips sweetly against Mickey's cheek. He then moved his lips to Mickey's ear and said, loud enough for him to hear over the loud music, "You're right. You're not tied down. You can get any guy you want in the place. They'd be lucky to take you home."

Mickey, still sitting, stared up at Ian when he pulled away, the colors from the strobe lights dancing over his puzzled face.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow. Have fun tonight." Ian smiled gingerly before turning and walking away, not wanting to stick around while Mickey went on the prowl for someone else. The small, forced smile slipped off his face as soon as his back was turned. As he made his way through the crowd of gyrating bodies, he swallowed back the thick, bitter lump in his throat.

Just as Ian reached the door, someone grabbed his elbow. He stopped, sighed, and said, "Look, I'm not lookin' for anyone tonight, alright?" He turned around to find that it was Mickey who'd grabbed his arm. "Mickey? The hell are you doin'?"

"Said I could get the hottest guy in this shithole to take me home, right?" Mickey said, his eyes searching Ian's. He then sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and released it before saying, "So? You wanna take me home or what?"

Ian turned fully towards him. Without saying anything, he gripped the nape of Mickey's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "Hell yeah, I wanna take you home," he muttered against Mickey's mouth.

Mickey grabbed the lapels of Ian's coat with both hands before pushing him back towards the door. "Good."

They nearly tumbled out onto the sidewalk, laughing and pushing each other playfully.

"You're a dick," Ian said, his breath whooshing from his lungs when Mickey pushed him up against the brick wall.

"Am I?" Mickey asked, his eyes on Ian's lips, his arms caging Ian in.

"You're right, you know," Ian said when Mickey began mouthing at his neck. "You're not tied down. You can go home with anyone you want."

"Know I can," Mickey murmured against Ian's skin. He slipped his hands inside Ian's jacket and grabbed him by the waist, his fingers clutching at the material of the flannel he wore underneath. "Want you, though." He then stepped back, pulling Ian with him towards the dark alley next to the bar. "Kinda don't wanna wait."

Ian started to follow him, but he hesitated, planting his feet. "No, not there."

Mickey clicked his tongue. "Come on, man. I was just fuckin' with you back there."

"I'm not fucking you in an alley, Mickey," Ian said, grabbing Mickey by the hips, keeping him close. "Don't wanna fuck you in some dark, dirty alley. You're more than that to me."

Mickey let out a shaky exhale and closed his eyes. He pressed his forehead against Ian's shoulder. "Shouldn't say shit like that, man."

Ian smiled a little and pressed his lips to the shell of Mickey's ear. "Good thing you're drunk and will most likely forget I said it by tomorrow."

Mickey pulled away and nodded, suddenly looking a little green. "Can you call for an Uber, man? I wanna get the fuck outta here. Don't feel so good."

"Yeah," Ian said, smiling gently as he watched Mickey sway a little. He wrapped his arm around Mickey's neck and pulled him close. Against Mickey's temple, he muttered, "Yeah, I can call for an Uber."

Ian ended up being the one to take Mickey home that night, although no fucking had been involved. He half-carried Mickey into his apartment and tucked him into bed, making sure to leave a glass of water and aspirin on the bedside table in case Mickey needed it in the middle of the night.

Mickey wouldn't find out that Ian had watched him sleep for a little while, had smoothed his hair back from his sweaty forehead when he'd started grumbling in his sleep. He would never know, either, that Ian had kissed his cheek and whispered, 'Just wanted you to know where I stand,' before finally falling asleep himself.

* * *

Even though Mickey told himself he was going to end things with Ian before they got too out of control, he always backed down from bringing it up as soon as Ian opened his door wearing the usual sexy smirk. The 'fucking' part of their benefits deal happened almost every night for the next few weeks.

At work, they remained mostly professional (especially around Wayne, who slowly but surely stopped accusing them of sleeping together), with only flirty looks and offhand sexual comments distracting them here and there. Once they left the office and entered Ian's place, however, clothes came off, and they spent most of the night kissing, exploring each other's bodies, and fucking each other to exhaustion.

Every time Mickey told himself he didn't want to take things too far, he found himself placing soft, lingering kisses on Ian's bare shoulder while they basked in the afterglow, or running his fingers gingerly through Ian's hair as he listened to him talk about something inane, or slowly smoothing his hands over Ian's sculpted upper body while they locked eyes as he rode him… you know, things normal fuck buddies probably didn't do.

A big reason he hesitated to end things with Ian was the sex. He wasn't ready to let that go yet. He had fucked a lot of guys in his lifetime, but no one had ever fucked him quite like Ian did. Ian's cock was fucking perfect, and Mickey couldn't get enough of it. He was becoming a fiend for Ian's dick, and he wasn't shy about admitting it.

He was fully intent on ending it eventually, but until then, he was convinced everything was in his control, and that he was perfectly capable of ending it at any given time. What they had going was good, simple, and uncomplicated… for the time being.

Ian ruined it one night by suggesting they go out to eat. To anyone else, it would have been a simple invitation to go get food. To Mickey, it sounded as if Ian was trying to tie him down, trying to push him headfirst into something he wasn't ready for, so all his defenses went up immediately.

"Hold the fuck up," Mickey snapped, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, "What do you mean by 'go get food'?"

Ian laughed, looking at him as if he was ridiculous. "I mean, we just fucked three times in a row, and I'm hungry. I wanna go eat."

Mickey stood there and watched as Ian pulled on a pair of sweats. He removed the cigarette from his mouth with shaky fingers, his mind and body reeling. "Sounds like you're asking me out on a fuckin' date."

Ian froze with his shirt halfway on, his head halfway poking through the hole. He finished pulling the garment on and looked at him with a sigh. "What? No one said anything about a date, Mickey. I literally just wanna eat. You can come with me or not, but I'm getting a nice, juicy burger and fries."

Mickey watched as Ian put on his shoes. He suddenly felt like an idiot for standing in the middle of Ian's bedroom still naked while Ian was fully dressed. "Good," he finally said, stern, his eyebrows making his point, "Because I don't do dates."

"Well, that's good because I'm not asking you out on a date," Ian reiterated. He then sighed and walked over to Mickey. He placed his hands on Mickey's hips and leaned in to press his forehead against his. "Look, I know what this is, Mickey. It's just us having fun and fuck… we have a lot of fun, and it's great. It's really fucking great, but I know there's nothing else here for you. You don't have to worry about it. I've come to accept it. You've made your stand on this thing between us clear plenty of times, trust me," he finished with a small smile. He pulled away fully to grab his wallet from the dresser. "You comin'? You can even pay for your own food if it'll make you feel better."

Mickey watched him, Ian's words causing an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Did Ian honestly think there was nothing else there for him? That all he cared about was the fucking part of their deal? He knew that even if Ian did think those things, it was no one else's fault but his. Besides, it was good that Ian thought that, wasn't it? It meant things weren't getting too serious, too out of his control.

As he got dressed and followed Ian out the door, he did nothing to refute anything Ian had said, figuring it was best that way.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Lindenmeyr Publishing was having their annual Christmas party. Mickey stood in the corner as he sipped his piss-warm beer, wishing he were anywhere else, preferably naked and ass-up in Ian's king-sized bed. As he watched his colleagues laugh, talk, and mingle jovially around him, he scowled, wondering how much longer Ian intended to stay.

"Having fun?"

Mickey looked up to find Wayne standing in front of him, looking three sheets to the wind even though the party had only started an hour before. "Does it look like I'm havin' fun?"

Wayne rolled his eyes and sipped his undoubtedly spiked punch. "Right. Why would you be having fun? You don't even know what fun is."

"You might wanna slow down on the punch there, princess," Mickey warned, knowing from the stories he'd heard that Wayne was a lightweight and got even bitchier than usual while intoxicated. "I ain't holding your hair back if you fuckin' puke later."

"As if I'd let you hold my hair back," Wayne tossed back cattily. "You should actually be drinking more. Have fun, let loose for once, wipe that perma-scowl off your face."

"I will have fun, once I leave this place and go home to fuck my boy-" Mickey immediately stopped what he was saying, completely caught off guard by the word that had almost slipped from his mouth.

Was he really about to call Ian his fucking boyfriend? Why? Because they fucked almost every night? Because even when they weren't fucking, Mickey hung around Ian's place, and they talked, and laughed, and watched bad TV together? Because after that first time, Mickey continued to go out and get food with Ian, and (even though he swore up and down that it wasn't) every single time had kind of felt like a fucking date?

"Your what?" Wayne asked because of course he'd caught what Mickey had been about to say. "Your boyfriend? Oh my god, you have a boyfriend? Since when!"

"Since never, alright?" Mickey snapped. "Keep your fuckin' voice down," he warned once he saw questioning looks being thrown his way. He panicked and searched for Ian, not wanting him to have any part of what was happening right then. He didn't want to have to explain to Ian about his almost fuck-up. He knew Ian would take the fact that he'd almost called him his boyfriend and fucking run with it.

"You have a boyfriend?" Wayne continued through a hiccup. "And why isn't he here with you? Can't be too serious…"

Mickey finally found Ian through a break in the crowd, and he fumed a little at what he saw. Ian was standing with a guy named Chad, some fuckhead from the 14th floor who appeared to not be able to keep his hands to himself considering he grabbed Ian flirtily by the elbow and laughed at something Ian said.

Ian grinned back at Chad as he took another sip of his drink. Their eyes lingered a little too long for Mickey's liking.

"What the fuck is this?"

"What?" Wayne questioned, looking around with slightly wide eyes. Apparently, the paranoia that sometimes comes with being drunk was setting in. "What? What's going on right now?"

Mickey didn't pay Wayne any mind; he placed his stale beer down and tore through the crowded room towards Ian. He didn't see the metaphorical light bulb appearing over Wayne's head when he saw exactly who Mickey was heading towards.

Ian looked up mid-conversation when Mickey reached him, his brows furrowed when he saw the look on Mickey's face. "What's going on? Everything okay?"

"The fuck are you doing?" Mickey asked, keeping his tone measured, not wanting to draw attention to them. The last thing he or Ian needed was for their coworkers to hear the conversation they were about to have.

"Excuse me, who are you?" Chad asked.

"Yeah, you know what? Excuse you, Thad," Mickey snapped. "This is a conversation between me and Ian, so you can get the fuck outta here and mind your business."

"It's Chad."

"Do I look like I fuckin' care what your name is, _Brad_?"

"Mickey, what the fuck are you doing?" Ian scolded through gritted teeth. "You're acting way out of line! Calm the hell down."

"Oh, I'm acting outta line?" Mickey snapped. "You're one to talk, asshole."

Chad quickly and gracefully exited the conversation, obviously not wanting to be caught in the middle of whatever Mickey and Ian were in the middle of.

"What do you mean? What am I doing?" Ian exclaimed. "I was talking to someone before you rudely interrupted us!"

"You were flirting with the asshole right in front of me."

"I was not flirting with him, I was talking to him! About work!" Ian exclaimed, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

"He had to put his hands on you to talk about work, huh?"

"You're being ridiculous."

"Don't call me ridiculous," Mickey warned. "I have fuckin' eyes, Ian!"

"You weren't even anywhere around," Ian shot back. "How was I doing it in front of you?"

"Oh, so that makes it better, right?" Mickey retorted. "As long as I'm not around to see it! Good to fuckin' know!"

"Why do you even care, Mickey?" Ian asked after a beat, his eyebrows furrowed, his tone uneven. "We're not boyfriends, you said it yourself plenty of times! We're just fucking, aren't we? So, even if I was flirting with the guy, am I wrong for doing it?"

"I don't… I… you—" Mickey stammered, unable to find the right words to describe the weird and unwanted emotions he was feeling. He looked away from Ian's intense stare, shifted his jaw a little, and finally muttered, "I don't want you flirting with anyone else."

Ian paused to take in Mickey's admission before saying, "So, you don't wanna actually be with me, but you don't want me to talk to anyone else?" he asked, his tone uneven. "Did I get that right?"

"It's simple; if you're fucking me, I only want you to be fucking me! What's not to get about that?" Mickey retorted. "I know from your past that that's a hard concept for you to grasp, but I don't—"

"Oh, fuck you, Mickey!" Ian snapped. "Throwing my past in my face to hurt me? Real nice!"

"I wouldn't have to throw your past in your face if you wouldn't—"

"I'm not fucking anyone else!" By that point, everyone at the office Christmas party was watching them, some more discreetly than others.

"Fuck off! You were practically undressing the douchebag with your eyes!" Mickey exclaimed, not in the right frame of mind to care about anyone hearing or seeing them.

Ian's eyes widened in mock amusement, and he laughed dryly. "Oh, okay! Are you fucking anyone else?"

"What?" Mickey sneered as if the idea was completely absurd. "Don't turn this around on me, asshole!"

"Are you?" Ian exclaimed. "Because it kinda seems like you feel guilty about something, like you're tryna paint me to be the bad guy because you're fucking around on me yourself."

"I'm not fucking anyone else, for your information!" Mickey spat. "Don't have time to fuck anyone else. Don't even wanna fuck anyone else, but if you do want someone else, feel fucking free, because I'm done! Never shoulda gotten this far with your ass, to begin with!"

Ian's jaw clenched as he took in Mickey's words. "You're such an—"

"What?" Mickey countered. "What am I? Fuckin' tell me."

Ian stood fuming, his eyes brimming with tears.

Mickey clicked his tongue and opened his mouth to say something, feeling like a complete fucking asshole, but he was interrupted.

"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt," Wayne interjected as Ian and Mickey stood facing each other, seething. "But, Mickey, from what I just heard, it kinda seems like you do wanna be exclusive."

"Stay the fuck out of it, Wayne," Mickey and Ian snapped simultaneously.

Wayne lifted his hands in surrender and turned away.

Ian sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I can't… what do you want from me, Mickey? I mean, honestly? I can't keep doing this. I have to know where I stand with you. I have to know where we're going with this because I can't do it anymore."

Mickey shifted his jaw back and forth a few times before saying, "I want… fuck. I don't know."

"What?" Ian asked, sounding resigned. "Just end it now if that's what you want. I don't know what else I can say or do anymore. I can't keep pretending with you, Mickey. I can't keep settling. I want more. You can't tell me you don't wanna be with me, then get mad at me for talking to someone else. You can't throw my past in my face when I've done nothing wrong. I…" He paused to run a hand down his face. "If you don't see this truly going anywhere, just admit it. Right here. End it." He shrugged, looking defeated, his lower lip trembling slightly. "Just end it."

Mickey remained silent, gaining some clarity at that moment as he stood there staring at Ian. He didn't want to lose him. Even though he was scared shitless of getting hurt, and even though he didn't know how to do any of it, he didn't want to lose Ian. It all came down to that. He knew, deep down, that Ian was worth the risk.

"Fuck, Ian. I don't wanna end it."

Ian sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I can't keep going in circles with you, Mickey…"

"I wanna give us a shot."

Ian looked up, the surprise written all over his face. After a beat, he said, "You what?"

Mickey pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes not leaving Ian's. He then nodded once, his eyebrows raised. "You heard me."

"I heard you," Ian intoned. "I'm just not sure I heard you right."

Mickey swallowed thickly, knowing if he didn't say what he wanted to say then, he might not say it at all. "I don't wanna be with anyone else, and I don't want you to be with anyone else. I wanna take you out… on a real fuckin' date. I want us to dress nice, I want to pick you up at your door, take you to a fancy fuckin' place to eat with fancy utensils and fancy napkins, all that stupid shit."

Ian cocked his head to the side and smiled a little, looking a little apprehensive about it all. After a pause, he said, "You don't do dates."

"Yeah, well. I do now," Mickey shot back.

Ian visibly relaxed and let out a breathy laugh, seemingly in disbelief.

"Kinda thought maybe we could take a chance on each other," Mickey said, his eyes searching Ian's. "See where this thing can go. It could all be a massive mistake in the end, but I wanna at least fuckin' try."

"See if it's real this time?" Ian asked, stepping in closer. He grabbed Mickey by the hips and pulled him in.

"Oh, it's fuckin' real," Mickey murmured before leaning in to kiss Ian lightly on the mouth. He dug his hand in Ian's hair and angled his head in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Someone coughed and, finally, the reality of their situation set in, and both men pulled apart to glance apprehensively at the roomful of people watching them.

"Uh," Ian began, reluctantly pulling away from him. "We should probably go, let everyone get back to the party." He looked back at Mickey, who nodded quickly in affirmation. They couldn't grab their jackets from the coatroom and head to the elevator fast enough.

Once they were in the privacy of the elevator, Ian said, "Well, I guess it's safe to assume you're probably gonna have to change positions at work. They don't really condone romantic workplace relationships. Wouldn't be surprised if we both get reprimanded for it."

Mickey stepped forward, crowded Ian back against the wall, and leaned in to kiss him, mumbling right before their lips met, "Worth it."

Ian moaned into the slow kiss, his hands grabbing Mickey's ass through his pants.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," Mickey murmured against Ian's mouth. "About your past. I just saw red when I saw that guy touchin' you. Never really felt anything like it before."

"It's okay. I understand why you said it," Ian said, pecking Mickey on the lips again before continuing, "But you're the only person I want, Mickey. I want real with you. You have to know that by now."

Mickey nodded and chewed his lower lip a little before saying, in a completely serious tone, "Before we start dating, I should probably tell you I have a kid." He watched in adoration as Ian's face slowly broke into a grin. He then joined in Ian's laughter as he clutched the front of Ian's ugly-ass Christmas sweater and pulled him closer for another kiss. "C'mere…"

"So fuckin' lame," Ian murmured right before their lips touched.

* * *

The Uber ride back to Ian's place seemed to take a fucking eternity despite it only being a seven-minute drive. It took everything Mickey and Ian had in them to not devour each other right there in the backseat of the guy's Honda Accord.

Mickey held himself over by mouthing at Ian's neck and rubbing him through his pants, being careful to not be seen by the driver, but making sure Ian was good and ready for him by the time they got to their destination.

When they finally reached Ian's apartment, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Kicking the door shut behind them, they undressed each other hurriedly with fumbling hands as their lips remained attached, not wanting to break the passionate kiss.

The sounds of belts unbuckling, lips smacking, and breaths hitching were the only sounds in the otherwise quiet and dark apartment.

Once they were both naked, they fell gracelessly into Ian's bed, laughter falling from their mouths when they knocked foreheads and the headboard bounced loudly against the wall.

The bed was still unmade and messy from that morning when Mickey had woken Ian up with a lazy blowjob. Ian had then pounded Mickey relentlessly into the mattress until they were both cursing through their orgasms.

That night, they were in no hurry as Ian drizzled lube in his hand, warmed it between his fingers, then reached down to carefully open Mickey with two of his fingers.

Mickey was lying beneath him, a pillow propped under his ass, his eyes glued on Ian's the entire time.

Even though the room was mostly dark with only small bits of moonlight pouring in through the slats of the blinds, Ian could see the fond look on Mickey's face as he slowly finger-fucked him, preparing him. "What're you thinking about?" he asked, breathless.

"I'm thinkin' you need to hurry the fuck up and get on me."

"You're really laying the romance on thick tonight, aren't you?"

"You really wanna be talkin' right now?"

Ian grinned and leaned down to press his forehead to Mickey's. He then reached between them and lined his cock against Mickey's hole.

Mickey gasped and dug his fingers into Ian's lower back as Ian slowly pushed into him. He wrapped his legs around Ian's waist once he was fully inside him and hooked his ankles at Ian's lower back, keeping him close.

"Mickey…" Ian whispered, not moving, allowing them both to get used to the sensation. He pressed his mouth to Mickey's and kissed him chastely. "You sure you want this? You sure you want me? I know you said you were ready, but I just… I wanna be sure. I wanna make sure you didn't just say it because you thought you had to. I know how you feel about relationships, but I… shit, Mickey. I really fucking want this."

Mickey smoothed his hands up Ian's back, around his shoulders, then cupped Ian's face, causing him to pull away a few inches to look in his eyes. "I want this too," he answered. "I want you."

Ian answered by leaning back in and capturing Mickey's lips in a rough kiss. He finally began to move, pulling out of him almost completely before pushing back in, forcing a grunt from Mickey. Their tongues tangled through the kiss as Ian made love to him. It felt different, that time. It felt important. It felt right.

Mickey gasped when Ian pulled away from the kiss, both in need of air.

Ian crossed his arms under Mickey's head and buried his face in the crook of his neck as he continued making love to Mickey, just slowly rolling his hips, in no rush to finish.

Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian, planting soft, lingering kisses on his shoulder. Normally, he'd bitch at Ian to pick up the pace and fuck him harder, but he surprised himself by not wanting it that way right then. He was perfectly content with going slow and gentle. Perfectly content with being completely consumed by Ian.

After they had both climaxed a short while later, they passed a cigarette between them as they basked in the afterglow.

Ian ruined the contented silence after a while. "You know I wanna talk, right? We need to talk about this."

Mickey sighed, blowing a plume of smoke towards the ceiling. "I wouldn't fuckin' expect anything less."

Ian propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at him. "Why are you so afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you, asshole," Mickey said, avoiding Ian's eyes as he leaned over and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table. He then relaxed back and continued staring up at the ceiling, hoping Ian would drop the subject.

Ian wasn't having any of that. He cupped his hand over Mickey's cheek and turned his face, forcing Mickey to look at him. "Yes, you are afraid of me. Or you were, that's why you constantly pushed me away."

"Well, first of all, you're my boss," Mickey retorted. "Didn't wanna get romantically involved with my boss. What's so hard to understand about that?"

"No," Ian said, shaking his head. "That's not it."

"The fuck it isn't."

"There was more to it than that. You fought this thing between us a little too hard for it to just be about that."

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face, knowing Ian wasn't going to let up until he got real answers. "Alright, fuckin' relentless asshole," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes when Ian laughed. He shot him a perturbed look before saying, "At first it was because you were my boss, but then, fuck, I don't know. Somewhere along the way I actually started to fuckin' like you, and it scared the shit out of me. I wasn't fuckin' expecting any of it."

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Mick," Ian muttered, his thumb smoothing over Mickey's cheek.

"I'm not afraid," Mickey said, again. "I never wanted a relationship at all. Period. I tried to fuckin' fight it. I was perfectly content with being alone. I was used to being alone. Didn't wanna be tied the fuck down; not by Aleks, not by anyone."

Ian swallowed visibly, his gaze averting away at the mention of Mickey's ex. "So, what changed? How are you so sure now that you're ready?"

"You're under my skin, man," Mickey said after a short pause. "The fuck can I do? Tried to fuckin' fight it, tried to forget about your ass at first, tried to go on as if nothing had ever happened between us, like it didn't mean anything to me, but I couldn't fuckin' shake you. I was afraid to make it real, though. Thought I could get by with us just being friends with benefits. Thought I could just fuck you outta my system and move on."

Ian pursed his lips and nodded a little, clearly a little hurt by that last bit of information.

"Then you told me to end it," Mickey continued, his tone measured. "Told me to walk away from you if it wasn't real, and…"

"And what?" Ian pressed when Mickey's voice trailed off.

"Knew that wasn't gonna happen," Mickey finished, his tone soft, his expression sincere. He reached up and brushed his thumb against Ian's cheek. "It was kinda fuckin' easy to walk away from Aleks. Didn't really think twice about walking away from him." Once Ian lifted his eyes to meet his, Mickey finished with, "I didn't wanna walk away from you. Can't walk the fuck away from you."

Ian swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The emotions he was feeling were written all over his face.

"That's how I know," Mickey finished, his thumb still smoothing over Ian's cheek.

Ian said nothing to that. Instead, he leaned down and kissed him. The kiss immediately turned hungry as they switched positions and Mickey climbed on top of him. They both stopped talking for a while as Mickey rode him in the same slow, lazy, delicious pace they had earlier that night.

They still had a lot more to talk about, a lot more to figure out, but for the time being, they said all they needed to say with their bodies.

* * *

A couple of months after they'd officially started dating, Ian was laughing as they walked through his office door. They were heading back to work from their lunch break, having decided to grab a bite to eat at the little Thai food truck at the end of the block. Mickey hadn't been too keen on the idea at first, having never really had Thai food before, but he had eventually conceded and admitted, in the end, that Ian was right. The shit was fucking delicious.

"Next week we'll try that Indian place I've been telling you about," Mickey said as he closed the office door behind them, giving them privacy. "They have this amazing pork butt stew with basmati rice that'll blow your fuckin' mind."

"Pork butt, huh?" Ian said throwing Mickey a cheeky grin. "I'd rather have your butt."

"Dude," Mickey said, shaking his head as if the joke didn't cause his heart to race. "So fuckin' lame."

Ian turned, grin still plastered on his face, and he abruptly halted in his step when his eyes landed on his desk.

Mickey stood back and nervously rubbed his lower lip as he gauged Ian's reaction. He couldn't really tell if the reaction was good or bad, just that Ian looked a little speechless… and a little paler than usual.

"What…" Ian began but didn't elaborate. He slowly walked over to his desk and gingerly picked up the expensive picture frame. "What is this?"

Mickey continued to rub his lip. He suddenly regretted what he'd done, thinking he had most definitely overstepped some sort of line. "I, uh, I thought you'd like it. I noticed you don't have any personal items in here, so I thought I'd, you know, do something to change that."

Ian continued staring down at the professionally framed picture in his hands. It was a black and white portrait of Ian and his siblings, taken about a year before they had passed away.

"I found the picture hidden in your drawer the other night. I wasn't snooping or any shit like that, just, uh, just kinda stumbled upon it when I was grabbin' one of your shirts. I got it enlarged, clarified, and framed, had Wayne sneak it in here while we were out. I'm sorry if I overstepped, man," Mickey said. "It's your birthday, and I thought…"

"No, I…" Ian interrupted. He finally looked up, his eyes wet and red-rimmed. "It's… I don't even know what to say." He visibly swallowed and looked back down at the picture, a tear sliding down his cheek. "It looks expensive."

Mickey shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Didn't set me back too much."

Ian remained quiet for a few heartbeats before saying, "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you."

Mickey didn't say anything; he just watched as Ian wiped quickly at his eye.

"I, uh, I remember this day like it was yesterday," Ian began, his voice shaky. "My sister Fiona was nagging us to take a nice family portrait. We didn't have a lot, at least no recent ones. Frank and Monica never gave enough of a shit about us to get family pictures done. They would rather spend their money on alcohol and meth."

Mickey swallowed thickly and listened.

"Fiona was dating some guy at the time, some wannabe photographer named Scott," Ian continued, still staring down at the picture, his thumb caressing one of his siblings' faces. "We called him Scooter, he fucking hated it." He laughed a little at the memory before continuing. "He came over to the house one day with his fancy camera and lights, the whole nine yards. Everyone bitched about it, but we all came around if only to make Fiona happy. She did everything for us, took care of us, put her own life on hold for us, so we figured it was the least we could do. Fuck," he said with a wet chuckle. "Carl was so pissed that he had to dress up. Debs obsessed over her makeup for hours. Liam wouldn't sit still worth shit. We had to take about a hundred pictures before we got it right."

Mickey walked over to Ian once he finally broke and hooked a finger under his chin. He tilted Ian's face up so their eyes locked. His eyes darted slowly between Ian's wet eyes. He visibly swallowed before saying, "Your brothers and sisters loved you, you get that? There's nothing you coulda done. You did nothing wrong."

Ian squeezed his eyes shut, nodded, and let out a shuddering breath.

"Hey," Mickey mumbled, moving to press his forehead against Ian's. "They'd want you to move on and be happy. They'd want you to live your life. Let this go, Ian. Let it go. You can't hate yourself forever."

"I miss them so fucking much," Ian sobbed.

Mickey cradled the crown of Ian's head and allowed Ian to press his wet face against his shoulder. "I know you do," he murmured against his hair. "You did nothing wrong, you hear me?" He wrapped his arms around Ian and held him tight. "You're fuckin' perfect."

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist and continued crying against his shirt.

Mickey held him until he was all cried out.

* * *

After a few months of dating, things were going well between them, so Mickey and Ian decided it was finally time to take the next step in their relationship.

Mickey hesitated before knocking on the door to look at Ian over his shoulder with an arched brow. He had given Ian plenty of chances to back out, but he figured he'd give him one more chance to make sure. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm ready," Ian said with an affirmative nod of his head. "I adore Yev, you know that. And it's not like I haven't met Svetlana and Nika before, right?"

"Yeah, but this time it's different."

"Not for me," Ian answered, smiling gently, his tone earnest. "I liked you the first time too."

Mickey would never admit to anyone that his heart had melted at that.

"Besides, it shouldn't be too hard for you this time around," Ian continued. "You're not pretending anymore."

Mickey turned to face him, reaching up to lightly trail his fingertips over Ian's jawline. He smiled gingerly. "No, I'm not. You're right, we're good. We got this."

Ian let out an unsteady breath and leaned in to touch his forehead to Mickey's. "I am a little nervous to see Nika again, though. She scares the shit outta me, not gonna lie."

"Nah," Mickey began, smoothing his hands up and down Ian's upper arms. "She's been alright lately, actually. Still doesn't really say shit to me whenever I pick Yev up, but I think the threat of her slittin' my throat while I sleep one night is slowly waning."

Ian laughed at that as Mickey squeezed his arms one last time before turning towards the door.

Yev opened the door just like the last time Mickey and Ian had shown up together. That time, Yev's eyes grew wide when he saw his dad's companion. "Ian!"

"Of fuckin' course," Mickey muttered as his son straight-up bypassed him to hug Ian. His heart then melted a little when Ian pretended to stumble backward a few steps by the force of Yev hugging him.

"Am I imagining things or have you grown, like, two whole feet since the last time I saw you?" Ian bellowed. "Holy cow! You're gonna be taller than me soon!"

"No way!" Yev exclaimed, giggling. "Are you staying for dinner too? Mama made pirozhki!"

As they followed Yev inside, Ian looked at Mickey, an adorably confused look on his face.

When he opened his mouth to ask what pirozhki was, Mickey laughed and shook his head. "Don't fuckin' ask," he said with a chortle, "'Cause I have no idea."

"Got it," Ian said, grinning. As he moved to step further into the house, Mickey grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back.

Mickey pressed himself against Ian, snaked a hand around the nape of his neck, and leaned in to kiss him sweetly on the mouth. He then pulled back and laced his fingers through Ian's, intent on walking into that house with his head held high with his boyfriend proudly at his side. He was a little apprehensive about breaking the news to Yev, but he knew the kid loved Ian. He was nervous, and he was still trying to get used to being in a fully committed relationship, but he'd never been more sure about anything in his life.

"Ready?" Ian asked, swinging their locked hands a little.

"Yeah. I'm ready." Mickey nodded, squeezing Ian's hand. He was fully and unequivocally ready for Ian to be a part of Yevgeny's life and vice versa. "Let's do this."

* * *

A few months passed since Yevgeny became aware of Mickey and Ian's relationship. He was, of course, fully accepting of Mickey and Ian being a couple. Mickey really didn't know why he'd ever had any doubts in the first place. Ian and Yevgeny were like two peas in a pod to the point where Mickey sometimes irrationally felt like a third wheel. He didn't mind though; he loved seeing his boys happy.

When Yevgeny spent the weekends at Mickey's place, Mickey and Ian kept things relatively casual and tame around him, but Mickey was relieved that the transition was going smooth. Things were going well, better than Mickey could've ever imagined they would go. He was finding that being in a committed relationship with Ian was actually pretty fucking great. He'd never been so happy to be so wrong about something in his life.

It was a bright Saturday morning. Mickey stood in front of Ian's full-length mirror, trying to remember how to knot a fucking tie. He'd never really had anyone around to show him how to do so while growing up. He was getting irritated, and he was fully intent on forgetting the damned thing when Ian came up from behind him.

"Need help?"

"Nah, I'm good," Mickey snapped, stubborn as always.

Ian laughed. "You're not good, you've been messin' with your tie for twenty minutes now." He locked eyes with Mickey in the reflection of the mirror as he snaked his arms under Mickey's and reached up to knot his tie for him.

Mickey gnawed on his lip as he stared back at him. Ian looked hot as fuck in his dark grey suit, and he was doing everything he could to not turn around in Ian's arms and pounce on him. He knew that that would be a terrible idea considering they were running late as it was. They were supposed to have been at the church ten minutes ago.

"There," Ian said once he'd finished with Mickey's tie.

Mickey smirked at Ian in the reflection before turning in his arms.

Ian smiled at him, his eyes searching Mickey's. "Hey." He cupped his hand against Mickey's face and smoothed his thumb over the apple of his cheek. "You okay?"

"Course I'm okay," Mickey answered, his eyes dropping to Ian's lips. "Why the fuck wouldn't I be okay?"

"You seem a little standoffish today."

"Just wanna get this shit over with," Mickey said, reaching up to tug the knot of Ian's tie. "Fuckin' hate weddings. Surprised Nika even wants me there."

"Svetlana and Yev want you there," Ian said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "It'll be fun. Free food and booze, can't go wrong with that."

"Mm," Mickey moaned, accepting Ian's kiss on the mouth before saying, "Promise me when we get back here later, you'll tie me up with your tie and fuck me? It's the only thing that'll get me through this day. Look fuckin' hot, man…"

"I promise," Ian murmured against Mickey's lips. "I promise to tie your hands up, eat your ass out until you're begging for more, then I'm gonna fuck you hard and deep until you're trembling and can't remember your name." He deepened the kiss hungrily, then laughed into the kiss when Mickey pushed him back toward the bed.

Mickey figured they could afford to be a little late. It's not like they were the guests of honor or anything.

Ian ended up doing all the things he'd promised. In the end, they were an hour and a half late to Svetlana and Nika's wedding. They'd made it in time for the reception, where Mickey and Ian spent the entire night sharing secret smiles and flirty looks; both remembering exactly what Ian's tie had been involved in just hours before, and both eager to do it again.

* * *

A few weeks later, they were heading into work on a Tuesday morning, about to head to separate floors.

When the higher-ups had learned of Mickey and Ian's relationship, Mickey had been relieved of being Ian's assistant. He was assigned to be the assistant to some old viagroid who barked out orders left and right, and who looked down his nose at Mickey while constantly stink-eyeing his tattoos. The man was completely insufferable, and smelled like mothballs, and had teeth that looked like kernels of corn (which was completely fucking distracting), but Mickey put up with it all because it was his job, and he really fucking needed his job.

And to think, Mickey had thought his old boss was bad. Ian always joked that Mickey better not fall victim to the old man's charms, as he had with Ian, to which Mickey always sneered and flipped him off.

Once the elevator reached the 15th floor (Ian's floor), the doors slid open.

Ian sighed as he stepped out of the elevator, but he turned before the doors could close. "Have I mentioned before how much it sucks that you're not my assistant anymore and that I'm now stuck with Wayne?"

"Only about ten billion times," Mickey laughed, reaching out to finger the edge of Ian's striped tie. He bit his lip and remembered when Ian had used that very same tie to bound his wrists to the headboard a few weeks earlier…

Ian sighed again, pulling Mickey from his thoughts. "I miss having you around all day."

"You only miss getting to stare at my ass all day," Mickey said, still toying with Ian's tie, his mind slightly distracted. "Now you're stuck looking at Wayne's flapjack ass."

"At least I get to stare at your ass all I want later."

"Get to do more than stare at it," Mickey said, arching his brows playfully and poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

"Such a fuckin' tease," Ian groaned, tossing his head back dramatically and eyeing the ceiling.

Mickey laughed and grabbed the knot of Ian's tie. He tugged a little, motioning for him to step closer. "C'mere. Gimme a kiss. We're gonna be late. We're hoggin' the fuckin' elevator."

"Oh? Since when do you care about being late, huh?" Ian teased. "When I was your boss, you were late every day."

"Only 'cause I didn't wanna be around your ass."

"Still don't think you hated me as much as you thought you did."

"Just kiss me, asshole."

"You sound like a dirty pirate."

Mickey smirked, letting his boyfriend know he wasn't falling for the cuteness, even though he totally was. "Fuckin' kiss me so I can go, please."

Ian complied with a smile, leaning in to press his mouth softly against Mickey's.

"Mm," Mickey moaned against Ian's mouth. "Can't wait to get back to your place later, see how much you love this ass."

Ian pulled away, once again groaning. "Seriously? Why would you say that? That's nine hours from now! I'm not gonna make it."

"Unless we meet in the 14th-floor maintenance closet during our lunch break like we did last week," Mickey replied, his eyebrows raising suggestively.

"I'll be there."

"Better be." Mickey grinned and watched as his boyfriend stepped back, finally allowing the elevator doors to close. "See ya. Love you."

Right as the elevator doors closed, both men caught the look of utter surprise on the other's face.

"Wait, what?" Ian said, slapping the elevator door as if that would somehow magically make it open again. "Did he just…" He looked frantically left and right, hoping someone was nearby to confirm what he'd thought he just heard.

No one was around, which was just Ian's luck, so he dashed to the stairwell to the right of the elevator. Climbing the steps two at a time, he reached Mickey's floor and exited the stairwell panting for breath. Luckily, Mickey was just stepping off the elevator, his back turned to Ian. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

Mickey visibly stiffened before turning around. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Ian nodded and smiled, still panting. "You said you love me."

Mickey tongued the inside of his cheek and raised his eyebrows, a sure sign of guilt. "You need to get your ears checked."

Ian took in Mickey's answer and grinned slowly as he walked towards him. "You did. You said it." He stopped directly in front of him, his heart racing in his chest, and not because he'd just run up three flights of steps. "You love me."

"Fuck you," Mickey said, his tone soft, his eyes searching Ian's.

"You love me."

Mickey visibly swallowed and reached up to cup the side of Ian's neck, the pad of his thumb resting near his ear. He stroked Ian's face a few times with his thumb before saying, "Course I do."

Ian let out a shaky breath and leaned in to tap his forehead against Mickey's. "You love me," he muttered again as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"I do," Mickey murmured, cupping Ian's face with both hands that time. "Don't know how the fuck it happened, but I do."

"I love you too," Ian whispered before leaning in and pressing his lips softly against Mickey's. "So fuckin' much."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," Ian murmured against his mouth, his hands grabbing Mickey's ass. "Wanna show you how much."

"Now who's the fuckin' tease?" Mickey grumbled back before deepening the kiss.

After making out in the middle of the hallway, they finally had to force themselves apart when the elevator doors opened and a group of people stared at them wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Apparently, it wasn't a regular thing to find two people kissing and groping each other's asses in the middle of the 18th-floor elevator bank.

Reluctantly parting ways and promising to meet each other in the maintenance closet during their lunch break, Ian finally made it to his office, a half an hour late, a grin plastered on his face.

He pulled out his phone and sent Mickey a text, knowing he was probably pushing his luck but deciding to take the chance, anyway. It had been such an awesome day so far, why not at least try? So, does this mean you'll move in with me?

Two seconds later, Mickey's response came through: I just told you i love u, asshole. let's take it one step at a time maybe?

Ian sent him a winky kiss emoji, not expecting a response back. Mickey surprised the hell out of him for the second time that day when he texted back immediately: We'll talk about it later…

He couldn't stop smiling as he sat down at his desk to get started for the day.

His eyes swept over the contents on his desk.

In the middle of his desk near his nameplate sat a rock-turned-paperweight Yevgeny had painted for Ian in school during art class. It was bright and multi-colored, and Ian wasn't exactly sure what the pattern on the rock was supposed to be, but he loved the thing, regardless. It matched the pencil holder Yev had made for Mickey.

The Gallagher family portrait that Mickey had given him for his birthday sat on one corner of his desk for Ian to look at whenever he wanted to. He no longer felt so sad or guilty when he looked at the picture. If anything, it was starting to get a little easier to remember the good times; a little easier to remember the love his siblings had had for him.

On the opposite corner of his desk sat a picture of Mickey, Ian, and Yevgeny that Mandy had taken back when she'd visited a few weeks ago to finally meet her brother's serious boyfriend. It wasn't a particularly great photo; it wasn't professionally taken, it was an on-the-fly candid shot of the three of them at the park one day, laughing and eating ice cream by a fountain. It wasn't a particularly focused or vibrant photo, but it was one of the two pictures Ian held near and dear to his heart.

Regardless, they were both pictures of his family. His past and his future. For the first time in a really long time, he didn't feel so alone in the world. He was content and happy and loved.

Mickey and Yevgeny made him feel alive again.

Ian finally allowed himself to believe he deserved it.


End file.
